The Legacy: Reboot
by Ariel D
Summary: What if Jarlaxle had left Menzoberranzan far earlier to go adventuring with Entreri? Could they have built their fledgling friendship successfully without the insanity of other drow and Crenshinibon? A story of escapades and camaraderie. AU. DISCONTINUED until further notice.
1. Chapter 1

**The Legacy: Reboot**

By Ariel-D and Surreptitious Chi X

 _Description: What if Jarlaxle had left Menzoberranzan far earlier to go adventuring with Entreri? Could they have built their fledgling friendship successfully without the insanity of other drow and Crenshinibon? A story of escapades and camaraderie. AU._

 _Disclaimer: Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle belong to RAS and Wizards of the Coast. No profit is being made._

 _A/N: I've talked with dozens of Artemis and Jarlaxle fans who were disheartened and upset by PotWK and especially RotP. Some even lost interest in the dark elf books and stopped reading. It is to these fans that Chi and I offer this story: an odyssey undertaken by our beloved mercenaries that begins after_ The Legacy _and moves forward on an AU track.  
_

* * *

 **Chapter One**

From the window, Jarlaxle peered at the low-hanging, grey clouds and sighed. His thigh ached, sending shoots of pain down his calf. However, he considered himself lucky to have a leg, and what was more, his life, after his encounter with the Companions of the Hall.

His gaze wandered to the assassin in the bed across from his chair. Artemis Entreri was still unconscious. Given the kind of injuries his ally had sustained, it was unsurprising. Jarlaxle had been shocked to find Entreri at the base of the cliffs during his flight from Mithral Hall. Last night had been a blur of dragging the unconscious assassin to safety and administering healing.

In the weak light of predawn, Jarlaxle had stolen a horse and navigated them to the small settlement of Rivermoot, at the junction of the Rauvin and Surbrin rivers. The inn Jarlaxle located was barely better than hiding in a barn. However, Jarlaxle was grateful for the warm room, even if Entreri's blankets were faded and patched, and the chair Jarlaxle occupied had a wobbly leg.

Finally, Entreri stirred. For a moment, he stared at the ceiling, confused. He felt groggy, almost drugged. Where was he? How had he gotten here? What had happened?

Then he remembered fighting. And falling.

He groaned.

Jarlaxle stood, regretted it when his leg twinged, and held out his hands in a stopping motion. "Do not try to sit up. You are still injured. I ran out of charges for my healing orb, so you most likely have a concussion."

Entreri glanced over, discovering the last person he expected: Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe. "You," he muttered.

Jarlaxle grinned. He pulled up his chair and sat, relieving pressure from his leg. "Indeed, it is I, your clever ally." He tipped his hat. "It is thanks to my good fortune and ingenuity that we are both alive and hidden from our enemies."

"Where are we?" Entreri asked. His head throbbed just enough to confirm Jarlaxle's claim.

"Rivermoot," Jarlaxle said. "A small town southwest of Mithral Hall. The middle of nowhere, basically. We will stay here long enough for you to recover."

"'We?'" Entreri found that an interesting turn of phrase. Granted, Jarlaxle had approached him with Vierna about securing his help to take down Drizzt, but it was nothing more than a business relationship. Why had Jarlaxle saved him? What did the clever mercenary leader want?

Jarlaxle nodded, then hesitated. "Yes, 'we'. Provided you take me up on an offer."

"What offer is that?" Entreri asked. He realized he was parched. "I need water." Probably food, too. He wondered how long he'd been out.

Jarlaxle handed Entreri his canteen. "An offer of partnership. We can be most helpful to each other, Artemis Entreri."

Entreri eased himself into a sitting position. His head throbbed, but he drank. The instant he took a sip, his sense of dehydration multiplied exponentially. He drained the canteen. "Partnership in what?"

Standing with a grimace, Jarlaxle refilled his canteen from a pitcher of water in the corner and handed it to Entreri. "In the way that we handle the opportunity we have been given. Drizzt Do'Urden and the others think you dead. So, too, does my mercenary band think me dead. This gives us an opportunity for a new start. We worked well together, even if our client's plan ultimately failed. As you said yourself, we are both opportunists. Why not work together now?"

"You intend to travel the Surface as a sellsword?" Entreri asked, skeptical. Why would Jarlaxle want to leave his mercenary band? He was wealthy and powerful. Also, he was drow, and Surface dwellers did not tolerate drow well.

Jarlaxle smiled. "You see? Already you generate the most wonderful ideas. Yes, I think I shall give that a try."

Entreri snorted, but he had to admit Jarlaxle was an interesting, even compelling, person. Entreri wasn't much on teamwork, having been a lifelong loner, but he wasn't without a sense of adventure. "I'll consider it." He sipped on the canteen, but now that there was water in his stomach, his body decided to wake the rest of the way up and demand food.

Loudly.

"How long was I unconscious?" Entreri asked.

Jarlaxle tapped his lower lip. "About twenty hours, I think."

"No wonder I'm hungry." Entreri's stomach growled again for good measure.

"What do you think you can handle?" Jarlaxle asked. "I had some fish stew earlier that was actually quite delicious, but you might be better advised sticking to broth or gruel."

"I'm too hungry for that." Entreri capped the canteen and set it aside. "I'll try the stew."

Although his leg gave another cranky twinge, Jarlaxle rose from his chair. "In that case, I'll be back with your food." He walked to the door, activated a basic charm spell, and left, closing the door behind him.

Entreri took that opportunity to take care of his basic needs. Unfortunately, he didn't have any of his personal supplies, and his face was beginning to itch from his stubble. If he'd had his dagger, he could have used to shave, but it was missing. He suspected Regis might be responsible for that, although he couldn't remember events clearly enough to be sure.

He climbed back in bed with a sigh and rearranged the pillows to support his back. _My life hasn't made any damn sense from the moment I met Drizzt Do'Urden._

Ten minutes later, Jarlaxle entered the room carrying a tray and shut the door with his foot. There was a tall glass of water, a biscuit on a plate, and an earthenware bowl steaming the scent of delicious chowder. The drow mercenary deposited the tray on Entreri's lap and sat down. "I hope the food is to your liking."

"It's food," Entreri reasoned, then took a bite. It was a bit too salty, but fine. Jarlaxle was admittedly a strange creature, but that didn't bother Entreri. Overall, Jarlaxle reminded him of some of the pashas he had known: powerful, dangerous, intelligent, and hedonistic. Despite Jarlaxle's ebony skin and pointed ears, he seemed familiar. "We'll need to resupply me," he said after a moment's reflection. "All my travel supplies are back at Mithral Hall."

"I know," Jarlaxle said. He smiled at the 'we'. "Then you have decided you will come with me when I leave this place."

Entreri hmphed faintly. He hadn't even made the decision consciously. "I have." It might be worth it, after all. If not, he'd just return to Calimport.

"Then I suggest that we travel to Waterdeep as soon as you are well," Jarlaxle said. "Waterdeep seems a fairly open-minded metropolis. We will be likely to find work there."

Entreri nodded. "Likely. Especially with Skullport below." He finished his food in short order, finding that eating had made his head hurt less.

"Try to rest," Jarlaxle said. "If you feel sleepy, allow yourself to drift off. That's the best thing you can do if you wish to heal quickly." He took the tray, heading out of the room with it.

Entreri lay back down, wondering what the following day would bring him and how his life might have been altered forever.

He supposed he'd find out the hard way.

* * *

Three days later, the drow mercenary and his new partner left Rivermoot with two horses and two packs of supplies. Over the course of five days, they followed the River Surbrin until they reached the trade road, then traversed the Long Road to its end: Waterdeep's north gate. It was helpfully marked in large metal letters on its archway: Northgate. Guards in heavy, well-maintained armor stopped all travelers on the way in. When it was Jarlaxle and Entreri's turn, they simply announced themselves as sellswords and were allowed entrance, although some guards grumbled over Jarlaxle's being drow.

Once they were inside Waterdeep proper, they found streets lined with classy shops and old villas, which exuded an air of peace. The inhabitants strolling down the street were dressed in fine clothes and seemingly relaxed in their surroundings, chatting and laughing.

Even Entreri noticed the peaceful air, although he couldn't partake of it. "Now we just have to locate work."

Jarlaxle pointed down the wide avenue leading them south. "We shall stick to the High Road. It shall surely lead us to the market." Although he wished for time to explore this neighborhood, he knew he would be unwelcome. There would be time for the North Ward when he and Entreri had made their way up in Waterdhavian society.

Deep into the heart of Waterdeep, the High Road met the Trade Way and ended, bringing them to the border of the North Ward. To their right, the Trade Way led into the Castle Ward. To their left, the Trades Ward.

"Well, the choice is obvious," Jarlaxle commented. He steered left.

Entreri followed, noting that Jarlaxle got fewer stares here than he would have imagined, but he doubted this would go off without a hitch.

The Trades Ward was heavily blanketed with businesses and guild halls on every street, but it wasn't their destination. Questioning a passerby led them Virgin's Square, which was where warriors for hire went.

The street was ahead on the left. Once they made the turn, there was another small street connecting to a large, vaguely circular meeting place. Other adventurers like them milled around, camped out to wait for people to come to them. Jarlaxle dismounted and joined the crowd, leading his horse gently to the board constructed in the middle of the square. Various wanted posters and ads were nailed there.

Entreri dismounted as well, following Jarlaxle and scanning the ads. The work was typical: bounty hunting, bodyguards, caravan guards, and the like.

Jarlaxle noticed small taverns and shops ringing the square, no doubt thriving on adventures' business. "If we are subjected to a long wait, we can rest in one of the taverns around us."

"Yes." Entreri reached up and ripped down the ad for the most promising-sounding bounty hunting job. "You seem like a chatty person," he said, turning to Jarlaxle. "Charming" was probably a better word for it. "Can you put that to good use in one of these taverns? Get a feel for the scene?"

Grinning, Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the assassin. "A well-reasoned suggestion. If you will watch my horse, I will make the acquaintance of the locals." He handed off his reins and strolled towards the battered wooden sign that proclaimed 'Ale Women Music'.

Entreri sighed and shook his head. He trailed after Jarlaxle, tethered the horses outside the door, and stepped inside. He wasn't about to be left out of the process.

Jarlaxle was already at the bar, clearly trying to soothe the flustered barkeep. Joining Jarlaxle, Entreri watched him work. He had a lot of sizing up to do as it concerned his new partner.

"I am not like other drow," Jarlaxle said. "Surely my fanciful costume convinces you of that?" He gestured smilingly to his hat and his rainbow cape.

"Still, ye ought not to be up here during the light of day, should ye?" the barkeep said reasonably.

"Oh? Why is that?" Jarlaxle asked.

"I heard you people turn to stone," the barkeep said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat. "Thank you for the concern. I find it quite touching."

The barkeep glared at him suspiciously. "I ain't concerned."

"How about two pints, one for me and one for my friend here?" Jarlaxle gestured at Entreri.

The barkeep glared at the assassin. "You with this freak?"

"We're partners," Entreri said. "Sellswords."

The barkeep grudgingly and hurriedly slapped pints of beer in front of them. "Sellswords? A drow sellsword? What're ye doing on the streets, then?"

"Do you have any advice?" Jarlaxle asked politely.

"If I have any advice, it's to get back under the city where you belong," the barkeep said. He turned away to deal with other customers.

Jarlaxle distinctly heard a deep male voice say, "Get that drow out of here."

The barkeep came back to Jarlaxle. "You're scaring away me other customers. Go back to Skullport."

"Skullport?" Jarlaxle stood and placed coin for the drinks on the counter. "I say, how interesting. Do you have directions?"

"Find the nearest sewer grate and crawl in it," the barkeep snapped.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat on the way out the door. "Many thanks, kind barkeep."

The man stared at him incredulously.

Entreri smirked and followed Jarlaxle out. "You are good at keeping a calm veneer," he said as they returned to their horses. In fact, he had yet to see Jarlaxle get upset about anything, period.

"As are you," Jarlaxle said. He mounted his horse and smiled. "I believe we should return the advertisement you have collected and set about getting directions to Skullport, which is apparently right at this moment beneath our feet." He tapped his chin. "I thought it to be somewhat removed from the city."

Entreri didn't know much about Waterdeep, having only travelled through it a few times, but he did know where Skullport was. "No, it's right here. And apparently there are drow there."

"I had heard that," Jarlaxle agreed. "Including followers of Elistraee. Most interesting. Female drow who allege not to be evil, you know."

Entreri had no idea; he knew little about drow other than rumors. "I assume you are skeptical."

"I have not met a follower of Elistraee, nor have any drow I have ever spoken to," Jarlaxle explained. "All religions except Lolth's are outlawed in Menzoberranzan." They headed back to the Trade Way, except this time towards the sea. "As far as entering Skullport is concerned, most often I hear of smuggler's ships. That presents problems of its own, given that we are not smugglers and own no ship. But perhaps if we go to the Dock Ward someone there will have more information."

Entreri nodded. It seemed reasonable. Mostly he just wanted to watch Jarlaxle at work.

Jarlaxle scanned his surroundings with curiosity as they crossed into the Castle Ward. The docks were still ahead, the air growing saltier in its tang, so he kept their course. The Trade Way ended, forcing them onto smaller, crooked streets. Jarlaxle and Entreri wound their way through their surroundings, finding themselves in an old, rundown part of town. At the junction of Sail Street, Dock Street, and the unmarked street they had been following, a two-story tavern called The Soaring Pegasus stood.

"I like the sound of that name," Jarlaxle said. "Let us ask for directions in there and perhaps partake of a hot meal if I am not asked to leave."

"If," Entreri said. He led his horse over, dismounted, and tethered it. Once again, he let Jarlaxle enter first, watching Jarlaxle's actions and reactions.

Smiling, Jarlaxle walked up to the door and opened it. A barmaid holding a tray with two flagons on it stopped in her tracks, startled. Jarlaxle tipped his hat to her. She quickly curtsied in return and hurried away to serve her customers, two seagoing types with brown beards.

The drow mercenary found an empty spot at the bar and sat on the weathered wooden stool. "A glass of sherry, please."

The bartender, an older man going bald, got a bottle down from the shelf behind him and served Jarlaxle without a word.

"Thank you," Jarlaxle said politely. He took a sip of the sherry. "I am new in this area, as you can probably tell."

The bartender shrugged one shoulder. He kept his attention on the task of wiping glasses.

Entreri settled beside Jarlaxle. "Honeymead."

The bartender nodded and served him. "You new here, too?"

"Yes." Entreri sipped his ale. "We're sellswords." The tactic had helped before, after all.

"Oh." The bartender looked at them shrewdly.

Jarlaxle smiled. "Indeed."

Silently, the bartender left to serve other customers.

Jarlaxle placidly sipped his sherry, clearly waiting the situation out.

After five minutes of looking bored and drinking, their luck changed when a man across the room at a table signaled to them. He wore a tattered brown cloak with the hood up.

Jarlaxle left his empty glass and sidled over to the man. "Yes, sir? How may I help you?"

Entreri wandered after him, affecting boredom.

"You're a drow, ain't you?" the man asked.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to him. "Yes, indeed."

"You must know a thing or two."

"I might," Jarlaxle said agreeably.

"But you must be lost, because you're up here instead of down there," the man said, narrowing his eyes.

"That does seem to be the case," Jarlaxle said.

"What do you say we trade? You prove you're on the level - and your human partner - and I'll show you the way down."

Jarlaxle glanced at Entreri.

Entreri wasn't sure why this offer mattered since the previous barkeep had said all they had to do was enter the sewers. "Why do we need you to show us?"

The man laughed. "You think it's easy, do you? Try fighting your way through two levels of the Undermountain, then."

"The Undermountain?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Yes, yes, the Undermountain," the man said, shaking his head at them. "You're trying to go where the rest of your kind are, aren't you? That's three levels down. Mad Halaster's not fond of people traipsing through the Undermountain to get there, either. You'd be killed. You need the trade entrance, got it?"

"And the way to secure such information is to do trade," Jarlaxle reasoned.

"Exactly."

Entreri was now listening. "So what are the specifics of your offer?"

"Say I need to help someone sleep without killing them," the man said, putting on an innocent face. "Drow can do that, can't they?"

"You're talking about sleeping poison," Jarlaxle said cheerfully. "Most certainly." He wagged an index finger. "But I warn you, it doesn't work on drow, nor on those inoculated against it, like my companion here. That would be a poor choice of how to deal with us."

"It's for someone else." The man spread his hands, hasty to allay Jarlaxle's concern.

Entreri was amused at Jarlaxle's lie, although it made sense for Jarlaxle to claim he was inoculated.

Jarlaxle plopped into the chair across from the man. "Very well. How much do you need?"

"Only enough for one person," the man said. "But even that is outside my finances. That is why it is lucky for me that you came along. You give me the poison, and I show you where the entrance is."

"Do we need to wait for nightfall?" Jarlaxle asked.

The man chuckled and shook his head. "No need. It's far better protected than that."

Suspicious, Entreri wondered if this was just too easy, although he slipped into the chair by Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle tapped his lower lip. "Since we're so helpless, and you have every advantage, I suggest that I give you the poison after you have taken us where we wish to go."

The man frowned. Then he gave Jarlaxle an ingratiating smile. "Of course. You are right. The only problem is that I have no way of knowing if you have what I need."

"That is easily demonstrated," Jarlaxle said. He stuck his hand inside his cape. From underneath, a small object that could have been Jarlaxle's finger poked out, aiming. Then, without a sound, the man at the next table over thunked his head onto the table and didn't move.

The man in the brown cloak looked at Jarlaxle with wide eyes.

Jarlaxle nodded. "The traditional drow way: administered with a tiny dart. The crossbow required to fire such things is much too expensive to barter away, but I am willing to part with one dart, which is enough to put one person to sleep. It is your task to store and use such a dart effectively."

The man rubbed his hands together. "Of course."

So far, Entreri's opinion of Jarlaxle was holding: the drow was proving useful. However, that didn't mean they'd be partnered for long. How Jarlaxle performed through their first two or three missions would determine much, and he suspected Jarlaxle was judging him in the same way.

Jarlaxle paid for their drinks. They discretely followed the man in the brown cloak to the docks. The man took them out into the harbor on a small fishing vessel. He claimed it belonged to him, but Jarlaxle didn't care if it was stolen on the spot. Once the sail caught wind, they glided out away from the harbor and around the side of the impressive Mount Waterdeep, the squat, forested peak beside the city. On the far side of the mountain's shore, away from the prying eyes of Waterdeep's navy, their guide changed course and angled the boat directly at the cliff face.

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow. "I dare hope you do not pick up strangers in taverns and attempt to commit suicide with them in attendance."

"Just watch," the man said.

The jagged rocks of the sharp coast grew ever nearer, and the sound of waves crashing against them was deafening. Jarlaxle seriously considered the downsides of trusting random tavern-goers not to be lunatics. He had a ring for breathing underwater, but there was an undertow in the sea, and the water would be salty, briny, disgusting . . .

Before he finished cataloging why he would like not to shipwreck, the bowsprit touched the cliff and slipped through. With a wash of unmistakable magic, they were sucked in, boat and all.

In a heartbeat they were in a dark, raucously noisy harbor smelling unmistakably of criminal element - that churning mix of sweat, blood, and exotic spices. The immense cavern was lit with torches, and the black water slapped the sides of the fishing vessel in the wake of a ship that had just docked. Its crew sang a ribald shanty while they unloaded crates onto the docks, probably stolen goods.

"Skullport," the man in the brown cloak said with satisfaction.

Entreri glanced around. From his point of view, it was much like an underground version of Calimport, although it no doubt had a much different mix of races. He could definitely find work here.

Once they got closer to the docks, Jarlaxle was both amused and thrilled to see a male drow wizard bartering with a dwarf. Their guide steered them towards the area for small vessels, out of the collision zone for hulking merchant vessels and pirate ships. Here Jarlaxle could see a gnome hauling in a catch of strange-looking fish. Jarlaxle spread his hands admiringly. "Ah, multiculturalism."

Entreri was not so nearly impressed.

"Multi...culture...ism?" Their guide gave Jarlaxle a strange look. "Aye, I suppose there are a lot of different folk about." The boat bumped gently against the pier. He jumped out and moored it.

Jarlaxle climbed out of the fishing vessel and looked around with curiosity. The harbor was actually not that large. It was hemmed in by the massive port and a sizable island to the far right. To get to the streets and businesses of the port, one had to walk up steps carved into the stone, a walkway ten feet tall. From there, Jarlaxle could see another portion of town raised a level further. It was like a compressed version of Menzoberranzan.

Beside the drow, Entreri glanced around with mild interest, wondering if Skullport reminded Jarlaxle of Menzoberranzan. Also, he wondered what effect it had on humans to live only underground, but he didn't intend to find out given he had no interest in making Skullport his new home.

The man in the brown cloak led them away from the docks, towards a warehouse. In the mouth of an alleyway, he stopped and held out his hand with a grin. "About that exchange . . ."

Jarlaxle tipped his hat with a smile. "Of course."

The man collapsed.

Jarlaxle drew his left hand out from under his cape. "Oops. How clumsy." He turned away and headed for the stairs leading up to the city proper, chuckling at the way no one looked at him twice. "Well, I did say it was up to him to store the dart properly. That he chose to store it in his leg and use up the poison on himself is no fault of mine."

"One day on the Surface, and already you have an enemy," Entreri said. "Impressive." Despite that, he was much amused by Jarlaxle's double-crossing. He also made clear note of it for his own sake. Not that he didn't already know better than to never trust anyone.

"A man like that hardly counts as an enemy," Jarlaxle scoffed. "If you knew how much sleeping poison costs, then you would have known that he was either lying or dead broke. And I wasn't about to give a dangerous weapon to someone I hardly know. What would be the common sense?" He glanced at the assassin. "I am hardly going to build a reputation of exchanging cut-rate merchandise for boat rides."

Since sleeping poison didn't kill, Entreri wasn't sure how dangerous it was in the grand scheme of things. He also admittedly didn't know how much it cost. "That's fair. However, it isn't always a matter of whom someone is but whom they are connected to that makes them dangerous. The man could prove to be an enemy." He smirked. "Not that I expect any real problems."

"If he is the lackey for someone more important, I hope they have a sense of humor," Jarlaxle admitted. "After all, I did give him precisely one dart's worth of sleeping poison in exchange for bringing us here."

Entreri snorted, finding his reasoning clever.

Once they reached the street level, they found this lowest level of Skullport to be a lightless maze of tangled streets and slummy buildings. They had seen the upper, lighted level from the docks, but now in the thick of these cramped buildings and crooked streets they couldn't see where to go.

"I believe these are what are referred to as 'flophouses,'" Jarlaxle commented. The smells around them ranged from dank wetness to disturbing.

Before they left behind the light entirely, Jarlaxle pulled an earring out of his hat and passed it to Entreri. "This earring will grant you darkvision, should you choose to wear it. I suggest it would be helpful in our quest to find the passage to the level above this one."

Entreri realized it was similar to the one he'd been using just a few days earlier, prior to his nasty fall. He accepted it and put it on, unwilling to proceed blindly, especially in light of some of the smells.

Around a corner, they startled a little goblin. It let out a yelp and stammered in broken Common, "No hurts. No hurts it. It does no harm."

Jarlaxle spoke in Goblin. "Do you know the way to the next level up?"

The creature stopped shaking. "Yes. Yes. I know the way." It bowed low to him. "I show you. Then you not harm me, yes?"

"Yes," Jarlaxle agreed.

The goblin took off at a fair pace, limping.

Jarlaxle started after it and remarked in Common, "We shall follow this creature to the way up. He has agreed to lead us." Sometimes, being drow was useful. Weaker and smaller races who had grown accustomed to the drow's bullying were simply glad to escape from an encounter with their lives.

Entreri suspected the miserable creature was too terrified to betray them, so he nodded and followed.

After three sharp twists to the left and two to the right, each taken after a block or so, they arrived at the stairs.

"You go up here. Then you reach the Venter," the goblin said.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat and allowed a gold coin to drop by sleight of hand.

The goblin snatched it up and held it out to him.

Jarlaxle put on a fantastic impression of a drow female, rolling his eyes and turning away. "Keep it. You've already touched it." He climbed the stairs without looking back, leaving the astonished goblin to scurry away.

Entreri found that to be clever as well, although he couldn't understand why Jarlaxle had done it. "Why pay him?"

"I dislike some goblins much less than I dislike some drow," Jarlaxle said.

Entreri smirked, given he felt the same way about some humans. "I can understand that."

Jarlaxle paused at the top of the stairs and looked around. "So this is the Venter."

The streets were clean and straight, the buildings well cared for, even ordinary. Jarlaxle could see warehouses and taverns and shops, as well as buildings that looked like homes. Narrow alleys ran between buildings, some so narrow that his hat would be caught if he ventured there.

Jarlaxle shrugged, picked a direction, and walked. Now that they were up here, Jarlaxle could see some mansions situated higher up in the cavern, on ledges or stony hills. That reminded him of wealthy House compounds.

"Much better," Entreri said, studying this new neighborhood or section. He could actually imagine working here.

Jarlaxle nodded. "This society is obviously sorted by level. The reek of the port is less here, too." Not to mention that the streets were lit with lanterns, mostly lanterns hanging from individual buildings. "Now, let us find a tavern. I doubt we will be chased away or told to go to Skullport. After all, we are already here."

"Food would be nice," Entreri drawled, having been hungry for the last half-hour. However, the effort seemed worth it. He suspected they could find a worthy job.

Jarlaxle nodded. "And should be easy to find. We shall simply follow any good smells."

That reasoning led them to a large tavern with whitewashed walls and a mural of a lantern and miner's pick. Though there was no sign, the smells of strong ale and roasted meat cut through the ambient dankness.

Jarlaxle grinned and opened the heavy wooden door. A glimpse of people of all different races sitting at tables laid with food and drink was enough to lure Jarlaxle inside. A vast collection of maps papered the walls of the establishment until there was hardly any room left. Leftover spaces were devoted to hanging miner's picks, dwarven helmets, and lanterns.

Entreri found this promising. If nothing else, the spread of mutton, duck, fish, and beef had his undivided attention.

A plump barmaid in a white dress with a brown apron noticed them. She smiled cheerfully. "Welcome to the Pick and Lantern. There's a few empty tables yet. Seat yerself and we'll be with you." She left them in order to deliver a steaming plate of roast chicken and potatoes.

Jarlaxle picked his way to a corner table. He sat with a sigh of relief and propped his feet up on the table.

"Just keep your boots away from my food," Entreri said, sitting with his back to the wall. He didn't care if people propped up their feet on tables; he did care if dirt got in his food. Now that he could buy dirt-free food, he was not willing to go back except in an extreme emergency.

Jarlaxle laughed. "I will eat sitting up properly, so you may have no fear of that." He gestured to a passing blonde barmaid, who hustled over and took their orders. A few minutes later, she returned with a red wine and a honeymead ale. Jarlaxle sipped his wine with relish. "Simply getting here was an adventure in itself. But we are here, and we are perfectly poised for our next move."

Entreri wondered if every day would be such a strange odyssey with Jarlaxle around. "Whatever that proves to be."

Minutes later, their food was served. Jarlaxle exclaimed over the roethe steak, having not expected to find such a thing in Skullport. Entreri listened with half an ear until his attention was drawn by a half-elf woman who stood and made her way toward them. She had ice-blue eyes and black hair ruthlessly yanked back into a high ponytail. Brown leather armor covered her from neck to foot, a matching brown cloak trailing behind her.

She stopped by their table. "You. You're Artemis Entreri, are you not?"

"Who asks?" Entreri said, sizing her up.

Jarlaxle almost choked on his roethe. _I thought we were unknown here._ Entreri had certainly acted as though he'd never been to Skullport.

"Shael," the woman said. She smirked. "Shael the Slayer."

The name rang the faintest of bells in Entreri's mind, but he didn't let on. "And how may I be of assistance to Shael the Slayer?"

Shael took that as an invitation, apparently, because she sat next to him. "There's a double hit job. Simultaneous kills. The targets are to be home when it occurs. One has massive magical protection on his home, so using teleportation to get the job done isn't possible. Neither is an easy mark. My employer and I are looking for someone who won't fuck up the second hit. Interested?"

Jarlaxle gave the half-elf his most charming smile. "And how may I be of assistance?"

Shael only now looked Jarlaxle's way, her gaze raking over him. "Depending on your sexual preferences, you can lick my boots later. They need a good polishing." Her grin was wicked.

Jarlaxle opened his mouth, hastily swallowed a retort, and wiped his expression clean. He looked away and didn't answer, which was as bold a 'no' as he was willing to give to a female. "Well, what do you say, Artemis? Are we interested?"

Entreri was relieved that he had not been subjected to the setting up of an S&M date between these two. "Tell me more."

Shael looked around and lowered her voice. "Darrion Oppus and Flygon Lammel. They're both involved in the slave trade here. Oppus has the magical protection. Both are decent swordsmen in their own right, and both have plenty of bodyguards."

"Taking them out will create a power vacuum your employer intends to fill," Entreri surmised.

Shael grinned again.

Entreri glanced at Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle shrugged and smiled. "A suitable first job. I assume the pay is good."

"A thousand gold pieces for Lammel and twelve hundred for Oppus," Shael said.

"We'll take Oppus, then," Entreri said, smirking at his competition.

Shael shrugged. "That's up to my employer. Do you wish to meet with her?"

"Certainly."

Shael reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a large copper coin with a dragon's head and two roses on it. "Come to the Dragon's Head Tavern tomorrow morning at eight o'clock, then. Present that token at the door and ask for me. I'll see you in."

Entreri accepted the token. "Here in Venter?"

"Two streets over," Shael said, standing and pointing to her left. "Until then, gentlethugs." She headed out the door.

Jarlaxle chuckled once she'd left. "Gentlethugs. The woman has a sense of humor. I would appreciate that much more if she didn't reveal in the first five seconds that her sexual appetite equals that of the average drow priestess." He returned to eating his dinner.

Entreri wrinkled his nose. "Good lovers must be hard to come by in Menzoberranzan, then."

"Impossible," Jarlaxle said. He changed the subject. "So, you are a great deal more famous than I was led to believe."

"Although my home is Calimport, I have taken jobs that led me up and down the Sword Coast," Entreri said. "My reputation is such that I was able to merely be a retainer at a guild and work as an independent contractor."

Jarlaxle laughed. "I am indeed fortunate then. A drow does not get such opportunities to travel in the Underdark. Each drow city is a xenophobic nation of its own. The furthest I have been is to Ched Nasad, and I assure you it is not that far, nor would I have been able to stay there and keep my life."

Entreri had a hard time imagining such a world. He suddenly understood why the Surface appealed to Jarlaxle. "Suffocating."

Jarlaxle nodded. "It is. For those like us, it is. For the small-minded of average skill, the xenophobia and lack of travel provides a sense of security, which I suppose is why so many Matron Mothers try to uphold the system."

"I can see that." Entreri had known humans that were similarly small-minded. "That is clearly not you, however. Nor is it I."

Jarlaxle smiled and waved his fork. "That is why we shall be good partners. This job will be our test. I assure you, I will prove myself a worthy partner."

Given the size of the experiment he was undertaking, Entreri certainly hoped that would be the case.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

At 8:00 the following morning, Entreri and Jarlaxle showed up at the Dragon's Head Tavern. Two muscular half-orcs stood at the double doors, their arms crossed. Entreri thought this was an unusual set up for a tavern, but he'd seen stranger. When he showed them his token and asked for Shael, they were immediately shown inside.

Immediately, Entreri understood why there were bouncers: the entire patronage was filled with nothing but females: female halflings, female elves, female dwarves, female humans, and females of mixed races. There wasn't another penis-bearing creature in sight anywhere.

Entreri realized belatedly the half-orcs had, in fact, been female.

Jarlaxle had known that all along but kept his suspicions to himself until they were inside. Then he murmured, "As I suspected, we have walked into the lioness' den."

Dozens of female eyes turned their way, sizing them up. For the first time in his entire life, Entreri had a mental image of a female gang rape.

Fortunately, Shael was one of those present. She stood from a corner table and walked up to them. "Greetings, gentlethugs. Mistress Talvaul is awaiting you." She turned and headed upstairs. Just like the day before, Shael was covered head to foot in practical clothing and armor, not advertising even one inch of extra skin. She was clearly business-minded.

Jarlaxle stuck to Entreri's side, on his best behavior. He didn't make any eye contact nor did he look at any part of the women's bodies. The image of females overpowering two lone males was not confined to Entreri, especially since Jarlaxle had seen such things several times in his life.

Shael led them to the top floor, which was six stories up. The penthouse Entreri found there reminded him of Basadoni's, except backwards. Beautifully adorned men lay about, chatting, singing, playing harps or lyres, or resting on couches. They wore little clothing – mostly just loincloths in fine linen, silk, or crushed velvet – but a great deal of jewelry. Some even wore a touch of makeup, mostly black eyeliner. Their hair was long, often braided or plaited and oiled so it would be shiny. The scent of perfume filled the air.

Entreri worked hard to remain stoic.

For Jarlaxle, this sight was not at all unfamiliar. His stomach churned, and he immediately found himself putting on a stoic face. _I'll not be one of these males. I'm better than this._ The thought was more reflexive than conscious.

Shael stopped and spoke with one half-elf male, running her hand over his bare chest as she did. He grinned and said something teasing. Entreri's mind wouldn't let him focus enough to catch what; he was too busy noticing the curious glances coming their way from the concubines.

When Shael continued to the back, opening a heavily guarded door for them, Entreri quickly followed.

Jarlaxle had noticed every look, every shift in body language, and every word that went into the interaction between Shael and the male half-elf. Shael was without a doubt a drow priestess in half-elf form. He had more motivation than ever to stick to Entreri's side. In this tiny environment, they were potential prey.

The room in the back turned out to be half-office, half-sitting room. A large oak desk sat to the left. Two matching bookcases ran along the wall behind it, and two wooden chairs sat in front of it. To the right was a sprawling wingback chair, a settee, and three modest leather chairs. A liquor cabinet graced the far wall, and the room was decorated with Calishite rugs and bright paintings of naked men.

A half-elven woman sat behind the desk, reading a scroll. In one glance, Entreri knew Mistress Talvaul was Shael's older sister. She had the same black hair, ice-blue eyes, and fine features. She merely looked a bit older.

"I have brought Artemis Entreri," Shael said, sketching a bow.

Mistress Talvaul smiled. "Thank you." She stood and looked them over. "You're prettier than I've heard, but your looks are not what I'm interested in. Welcome to Dragon's Head."

 _More like Dragon's Mouth,_ Entreri thought, but he sketched a bow as well.

Jarlaxle bowed low, sweeping his hat from his head. "I am Artemis Entreri's partner, a recent addition."

"I see." Talvaul's gaze lingered on Jarlaxle a moment, and she smiled again. "Well, have a seat." She sat and gestured to the chairs in front of her desk.

Shael walked around to stand behind her sister.

Entreri sat, trying his best to appear relaxed and confident. He also did his best to not look at the painting between the two bookcases, which portrayed two naked elven men kissing.

Jarlaxle sat as well, pulling his cape to one side carefully and crossing one leg over the other. He folded his hands in his lap and smiled. The painting of the male elves kissing was an interesting fetish that the female drow in his acquaintance did not have.

"Shael tells me she's given you the basic information," Talvaul said. "Let me add some details. Darrion and Flygon are the guildmasters of two guilds here, both of which are involved in child slave trade. They supply many brothels with their collection of child whores, as well as individual buyers. Some of the children are sold as work slaves as well." She grimaced. "I find the practice detestable, but the demand here is large, and no one cares what I think of it. It is also beside the point. Their guilds are getting far too powerful. It's time to do some pruning."

Jarlaxle glanced at Entreri. He was mildly reassured that these women only found grown males enticing, but he was also certain they had their own vices, some of which were obvious. And then there was the news that child slavery was a booming business in Skullport. His flesh crawled to think of how many male drow children were probably in the slave trade. Drow females, particularly commoners, tended to sell off their extra male children. He'd known that all his life. Given that there was a drow population here and apparent trade with the Underdark, it was a guarantee that he would see enslaved male drow children before his stay in Skullport was over.

Entreri had a visceral reaction to Talvaul's revelation, one that caused a wave of rage and disgust to crash through him, but he kept his face blank. "Why the double hit?"

"Our local guild politics," Talvaul said. "No one will ever believe that the Dragon's Head Guild could pull off such a feat. Or, for that matter, that we would even try using outside help."

Jarlaxle tilted his head. "You mean to convince them?"

Talvaul smirked. "No. I mean to escape suspicion."

"Ah." Jarlaxle thought that was a reasonable plan, and he could see how employing the very male Artemis Entreri would throw suspicion.

Entreri had arrived at the same conclusion. "And if I were seen or caught, the fact I'm male would add to the impression it isn't you."

"Precisely." Talvaul gestured to her sister. "Shael will take out Flygon. You will handle Darrion Oppus. The wretch is a collector of magical items, so expect quite a show."

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to her. "I, also, am a collector of magical items."

"That is fortunate for your partner, then." Talvaul pulled a purse out of the bell sleeve of her blue dress and tossed it to Entreri. "That's the deposit for your job. You need to strike at exactly midnight three nights from now."

That gave Entreri time to do some prep work. "Very well."

"Shael will see you out, then." Talvaul returned to her scroll.

Shael walked around the desk, and the men stood, following her out. Immediately, curious glances were aimed their way again.

Jarlaxle exerted all of his control not to make eye contact or look at anyone. The male servants' curiosity was either saddening or embarrassing, depending on whether they were wondering why he and Entreri were there or attempting to flirt.

Entreri didn't breathe deeply again until they were out on the street heading back to their inn. "Thoughts? Comments?"

"I'm glad that I'm not one of them." Jarlaxle adjusted his cape about his shoulders grimly. "Though male concubines are common in Menzoberranzan, I never intended to be one of them. Jarlaxle is not a plaything."

"I wouldn't be surprised if we discovered that Mistress Tauvaul is a slave trader as well," Entreri said. "One that specializes in adult males."

"Doubtless, that is why she wishes there were more room in the slave market," Jarlaxle said dryly.

"Indeed," Entreri muttered. "But we have a job, and it is not a small one." Twelve hundred gold pieces would be a full month's pay for two people for a top-level artisan's job. It wasn't a bad start given this was a new place for Entreri to work his way into.

Jarlaxle nodded. "If you wish we will divide duties; you will search out equipment that we need, I information."

"You'll need to tell me what magic items you have that can help," Entreri said. "And I need to scope out this man's home."

"To find his home discretely, I believe that I should put my information-gathering expertise to work," Jarlaxle said.

"Very well." Entreri had had a similar arrangement with Dondon, and he could only hope working with Jarlaxle would be as worthwhile.

* * *

A few hours later Jarlaxle met Entreri back at the inn, obviously pleased and humming to himself. He untrapped the door and strolled through as if the assassin's traps were transparent to him, then plopped down at the writing desk. He pulled a rolled up rectangle of battered linen out from under his hat and smoothed it out on the desk. "I have acquired the information we need. How did you fare?"

Entreri had been resting on his bed, but he stood and joined Jarlaxle. "Well. Bought some supplies, picked up some information." He glanced at the linen.

"This is a map of Skull Island," Jarlaxle said. "That is the island we passed when we arrived and the headquarters of the Iron Ring. The Iron Ring is the syndicate that all three guilds involved in our job belong to: the Lammel Guild, the Oppus Guild, and the Dragon's Head Guild." He grinned at Entreri. "You were correct to guess that our client is in the slaving business. The Dragon's Head Guild, however, is a minor player in the Iron Ring. Lammel and Oppus are major players. The Dragon's Head Guild has its hand in many enterprises Skullport is famous for, but slaving is the most lucrative."

Entreri nodded. "Figures. There's no telling where all those male concubines came from."

Jarlaxle pointed to the northeastern bay area of the island. "Oppus' house is here, not far from the East Dock of the island. From his second story he can see the slave warehouses, which is just the way he likes it."

Entreri's eyes narrowed. "And smell it, too, I'm sure. Are they sure he's sane?" He rethought that question. "Clearly not. Never mind."

"Oppus' house is also rumored to be full of slaves he has personally chosen from the barges that bring them from all parts of Faerun," Jarlaxle said.

"That could either work against us or for us," Entreri said. It depended on a lot of factors, some of which Entreri found inexplicable.

Jarlaxle nodded. "It is wiser not to rouse the household, given that some who are enslaved seek to win the affection of their slaver."

Hit again with a visceral reaction of disgust, Entreri had to repress a grimace.

Jarlaxle himself felt a tightness in his stomach and knew he was dismissing some of the more horror-inducing details from his mind. The fact that being enslaved could easily have been his fate made the subject of slavery inadmissible. For a brief moment, he experienced a flesh-crawling sensation. "Yes. Well. The whole island is extensively guarded. Rumor has it that outsiders can't get in unless they're in chains." He gave Entreri a smile. "Let's prove rumors wrong, shall we?"

"Yes, let's." Entreri smirked.

Jarlaxle stood. "That said, you wished to see my arsenal of magic."

Entreri seriously doubted that he would get to see all of it; however, he was interested to see what Jarlaxle would reveal.

Grinning, Jarlaxle pulled a wand made of light wood out of his hat. "This is a fire wand." He stuck it through his belt and pulled out another wand of slightly darker wood. "This is a wand that shoots enormous wads of goo. The goo sticks to whatever it touches and hardens, immobilizing the target." He also stuck that wand through his belt. Then he drew another, this one of gray wood. "This is my smoke wand. Wave it about and clouds of smoke come out. Very handy for an escape." Then he pulled out a fourth wand, painted blue. "And this is my ice wand." He stuck it through his belt so he had two wands on either side then waited for Entreri to catalog all that.

Entreri nodded, deciding Jarlaxle had a pouch of holding inside his hat. He wondered just how much stuff Jarlaxle could pull out of it.

Taking off his hat, Jarlaxle turned it upside down, holding it by the brim with one hand and fishing through it with the other. First he pulled out a scrap of black cloth cut and hemmed to look like a stylized bat. "This is a magical item that can come to life." Jarlaxle uttered a command word, and the bat suddenly flapped out of his grasp. It circled the room above their heads until Jarlaxle called for it. It alighted in Jarlaxle's hand. With a sly smile, Jarlaxle spoke a command word and transformed it back into lifeless fabric. "This bat can scout ahead for me and telepathically report, or I can see through its point of view."

After Jarlaxle dropped the cloth bat back into his hat, he drew out a glass orb that sparkled mysteriously within. "This is the item I used to heal the both of us so that we could escape Mithral Hall. It can heal one severe injury per day, two moderate injuries, four minor injuries, and eight cuts or bruises."

Entreri was impressed by what he'd seen thus far. "Good to know."

"The orb is not a drow item," Jarlaxle said. "It was actually created by a human. To activate the healing magic, one chants 'Rama Dasa Sasay Sohung.' Do not stop chanting until the injury is healed or you wish the magic to cease." He smiled cheerfully. "I tell you this because there may come a time when I will need you to heal me, so it is best that you know how the healing orb works."

Entreri committed the words to memory, then nodded. "Understandably."

Jarlaxle dropped the orb back into his hat and put it on. "Is there anything else we should discuss before we scout out the location of our victim?"

Entreri shook his head. He'd gotten more information than he'd expected, and given that he suspected he'd only been granted an overview of one percent of Jarlaxle's magical items and capabilities, this implied his new partner was truly as dangerous as he seemed, which meant Entreri needed to keep an eye on him.

On the flip side, taking Oppus out would likely be easy gold now.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the assassin. "Then shall we go?"

"We shall." Entreri let Jarlaxle exit first, then reset all the traps on their room.

* * *

The bridge from the Port to Skull Island was guarded, but that was scarcely an issue. A veteran assassin and a veteran drow warrior slipped past all eight guards without so much as a flicker in their peripheral vision.

Once they were actually on the island, the number of shadows to hide in was ridiculous. The slavers clearly relied too much on anyone escaping being clumsy, injured, or starved. For every alley that was lit, dozens were dark. Every warehouse that was well-maintained and guarded was outnumbered three to one by warehouses relying on fences and locks to keep order. The stench was enough to make them feel ill, but other than that, it was easy going.

In twenty minutes they arrived outside the two-story house of Darrien Oppus. The house was built on an up-cropping of stone and surrounded by a seven foot wall with a wrought iron gate. Lanterns lit the grounds, and guards patrolled. The house itself was also built out of stone, with a ceramic tile roof. Lamps burned inside, illuminating the drapes over the windows.

Jarlaxle and Entreri paused while the drow detected any magic that would alert others to their presence. There was none. The magical defenses were apparently all on the inside. That was suggestive: keeping slaves in, not keeping others out.

By watching from the shadows, Jarlaxle and Entreri memorized the movements of the guards. When an opening presented itself, they darted across the courtyard to the safety of the shadows under the eaves.

At this point, it would seem they were stuck, but Jarlaxle nonchalantly drew a circle of black cloth from under his hat and spun it on his finger, as one would dough. Once the fabric grew in dimension until it was of a ridiculously inflated size, Jarlaxle flung the disc at the wall. It stuck and instantly faded into an actual hole. They crept through to the second floor of the house. Once inside, Jarlaxle peeled the fabric circle off the wall and stuck it in his hat. There was no trace of their entry.

Entreri glanced around. They seemed to be in a bedroom, but fortunately it was empty. In fact, the air smelled stale, suggesting it was a guest bedroom rarely put to use. Despite that, he didn't speak since he had no idea what kind of magic might be in use.

Jarlaxle held up an index finger. He scanned the room, then nodded. "I detect no magic except for a basic net that keeps anyone from teleporting in," he whispered.

Entreri relaxed. "Very well." He crept over to the door, checking it for traps and listening for sounds in the hallway. He found no traps, but he heard a murmur of male voices, soft-spoken.

Jarlaxle followed cautiously, and after a few moments, he remarked quietly, "Good news. The master is asleep. The slaves are collecting in the kitchen now. It is finally their meal time."

Entreri hadn't been able to understand the words, so he was grateful for Jarlaxle's superior elven hearing.

When the voices faded, Entreri slipped into the hallway, which was revealed to have rich, crimson rugs and tapestries of exotic island locales.

Jarlaxle followed, looking around with interest. "There is nothing truly advanced here, like a motion detection system or a way to identify intruders and keep them out," he whispered. "It's all very basic. Spellcasting has severely reduced effects, one cannot teleport, and only healing spells granted by the owner's patron deity will work. In this case, it is a field of Loviatar. Fitting for a slaver." He nodded to himself. "Oppus' magical protections must all be defensive. Breaking through them will take some skill."

"Joy," Entreri drawled. He stopped at each door, listening, checking for traps, but not entering. He was just getting a sense of his surroundings at the moment.

Jarlaxle grinned. "I have three days to think about it. I will come up with a solution. The trick, I think, is to bypass the spell limitations by using support spells on ourselves. By enhancing our own abilities, we will overcome his protections thereby leveling the playing field."

Reaching the end of the hallway, Entreri found a gilded door with a gold door knob. He gave Jarlaxle a look. No doubt the opulence indicated Oppus' suite of rooms. Sure enough, a rune lit on the door when Entreri got too close, although nothing further happened since he didn't touch the doorknob.

Jarlaxle examined the doorknob, leaning in quite close and appearing to scrutinize it with the eye patch-covered eye. "I see, I see." Then he straightened. "I believe I could neutralize the rune by disenchanting the door, but it's probably easier to draw him out. This rune prevents anyone from passing through the door uninvited or from leaving without being allowed out."

The last part was decidedly creepy. Entreri would have less than no difficulty killing this target. "Very well. That is probably good enough for now." They knew how to get in. They knew where to go. Now they needed to scout a way out.

"If we go back the way we came, I can produce a hole again," Jarlaxle whispered. "From the unused room I can send out my bat scout to tell us when the guards have lapsed."

Entreri nodded. "Let's do it." He headed back down the hallway, slipping into the guest bedroom again.

Jarlaxle followed, making sure they were not observed, and produced his fabric hole again. He spun it wide and stuck it to the wall, then quietly animated his fabric bat and sent it through. After five minutes of tense waiting, the guards were in the right position. They were out in a flash. Once they were in a nearby alley, Jarlaxle stuffed the hole in his hat and called his bat. The bat alighted in his hand without being seen. He turned it back into a lifeless scrap of fabric and stowed it in his hat as well.

"Now we know much," Jarlaxle said quietly. "Given the rune on Oppus' door, perhaps too much."

"We know just enough," Entreri said. He expected the job to be complicated enough to be interesting but not overly difficult.

* * *

Three days later they were darting through the shadows of the same alley, ten minutes to midnight.

According to the plan, Shael the Slayer was on the opposite side of the island, making her way to Flygon's house. Entreri wasn't responsible for her success or failure, however. His only concern was taking out Oppus on time.

Jarlaxle used his fabric bat to scout out the position of the guards. Moments later, they were over the wall and silently running across the courtyard. Entreri scaled the side of the house while Jarlaxle levitated. Together they reached the guest room they'd found before. Jarlaxle made sure it was unoccupied, though he didn't share how. With a flick of his wrist, the drow mercenary's portable hole stuck to the wall and did its magic. They crawled in, and Jarlaxle pulled the fabric hole off the wall after them.

Entreri repeated his precautions, making sure the hallway was clear, and then they made their way down to Oppus' room. "Your show," he told Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle first listened at the door. Then, he drew back and looked at Entreri incredulously. "He's not asleep. Nor is he alone."

"A sexual partner, I assume."

Jarlaxle frowned. "A sexual something, at least. I hesitate to suggest the word 'partner,' given the contextual evidence." This situation stymied him, he had to admit. He didn't want to see what was going on, but on the other hand, he wished to kill the slaver as soon as possible, and there was no time when someone's guard was more down.

"Too bad," Entreri said. "It's almost midnight." The job was specific, after all. "We'll have to kill the 'partner,' too, unless you can quickly render us both unrecognizable. Or blind our opponents."

"Blind them. Yes, of course." Jarlaxle pulled a tiny trinket out of his hat band. It was a mirror one inch in diameter. "This will send out a blast of blinding light towards anyone on the wrong side of it." Then he pulled out a scroll and read it quietly. The scroll disintegrated into ash in his hands, causing the rune on the door to flare and then disappear.

Jarlaxle flung the door wide and blasted the room with his mirror's enchanted light. Oppus and his "partner," a young redheaded woman, had looked toward the door at the intrusion. They both cried out in pain.

Entreri wondered if Jarlaxle were actually a demigod of some sort or perhaps a secret disciple of Mystra, considering the mass of magical items. However, he set the thought aside, drawing his sword and new dagger and charging into the room. The yells might bring slaves or guards, after all.

Even naked, the rotund man wore a medallion and rings set with enormous gemstones on his stubby fingers. Seeing that, Jarlaxle hastily drew a whistle from his belt pouch and blew it. A melodious note rang out, and Entreri became limned in a rainbow glow of magical effects.

Oppus reached for some kind of enchanted orb on his bedside table. He lost a hand that way. Then Entreri's sword was through the man's grotesquely unappealing body. The kill was so fast Jarlaxle almost missed it.

The woman was screaming, unable to see but well aware of the violence.

Entreri clamped his hand over her mouth. "Silence!" he hissed. "Make another sound and you die. Understand?"

She whimpered but nodded slowly. He released her, but all she did was whimper once.

Satisfied, Entreri turned and sprinted out of the room, heading back to the guest bedroom. The sounds of running feet on stairs floated down the hallway; the commotion had been heard.

Jarlaxle was right on the assassin's heels. He stowed his whistle as he ran and pulled out the fabric hole. Soon they were outside in the chill, damp air, once again cloaked in the darkness of the alleyway. Jarlaxle stowed his magical items. "And so the deed is done," he said quietly.

"No great loss, I'm sure," Entreri said, smirking. "Now we get the joy of walking through the lioness' den in the morning."

Jarlaxle shuddered, mostly for show, and Entreri snickered, although he was in agreement.

Still, this was Entreri's first step to building a career in Skullport, which was surely easier than dealing with all the enemies and politics he'd left behind in Calimport. And it wasn't like his reputation hadn't preceded him here, so he wasn't really starting over.

And starting over wasn't anything he would relish doing.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, faved, and/or followed! As always, I greatly appreciate your support and feedback!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The following morning, Entreri and Jarlaxle once again showed up at The Dragon's Head, where Entreri presented his copper token. The half-orc females let them in, but this time Entreri was prepared for all the wandering gazes that roamed his body.

Shael was at a corner table. When she saw them, she smirked and stood, coming to their sides. "I hear you succeeded. Not bad for a couple of males." She laughed, clearly teasing.

Entreri suffered this silently.

Jarlaxle bowed. "No, indeed. We are above the average male's abilities."

Shael just laughed again. "Follow me." She headed upstairs.

Entreri tried to keep his gaze on the back of her head as they were led through the top floor. In his peripheral vision, he could see the males glancing their way, though. Some with smiles.

Jarlaxle avoided any of the servants' attempts to flirt with him, keeping his eye contact unavailable. He kept pace with Entreri.

They were once more admitted to see Mistress Tauvaul, who was sitting in the wingback chair this morning, sipping coffee.

"Good morning, fair assassins," Tauvaul said, smiling. "And a fine morning it is with Flygon and Darrion gone."

"Glad to be of service," Entreri said, although his tone was expressionless.

Jarlaxle bowed low, sweeping off his hat. "I agree completely. This morning will be finer still when we have received payment for our good deed."

Tauvaul gestured to Shael, who stepped behind the desk and retrieved a lumpy bag that jingled as she crossed the room to them. Entreri took the bag, then handed it to Jarlaxle, assuming he would tuck it into his hat.

Jarlaxle did so and straightened. He beamed. "Ah. It is truly a fine morning."

Tauvaul chuckled. "Would you gents be interested in further jobs?"

Jarlaxle glanced at Entreri inquiringly.

"Certainly," Entreri said. As long as the jobs weren't sexual, he would take them. It would be worth it to build a return business here.

"Excellent," Tauvaul said. "I know you're currently at the Crown Boar Inn. If you relocate, please send me notification so I will know where to have you contacted."

Entreri gave her a short bow. "We'll do that." He knew it would be unnecessary, however. Tauvaul's spies would no doubt tell her if and when they moved.

Jarlaxle bowed as well. He was relieved that Entreri could stand the anti-male atmosphere as long as they weren't actively approached for jobs that were beneath them. Lady Tauvaul paid well and had every reason to need their services again.

Shael led them back to the front door again. Entreri was glad for the escort if for no reason than he wouldn't be forced to kill the guild members of his new contact. Or the concubines, for that matter. As violently as he would react to a woman who tried to rape him, it would hold no candle to his reaction should one of the male concubines try it.

Jarlaxle breathed a sigh of relief once they were back on the street. "Well, we've been paid. Our first job in Skullport has officially been completed. I would say we're off to a good start."

"And we didn't even get violated by the women in the process," Entreri said dryly. "Surely a plus."

Jarlaxle snorted. "I would like to say that we would fight our way out of such a situation, but we have no knowledge of the Dragon Head Guild's skills."

"Fight or die trying," Entreri retorted, heading back to the Crown Boar. His feelings on that were quite clear. "I suggest we retire and count our gold. Best to make sure we were properly paid."

Jarlaxle nodded.

Once they were safely locked in their room, Jarlaxle took the bag of gold out of his hat and set it on the table so they had a flat surface to stack coins on. Between the both of them, they ascertained that they had been given the proper nine hundred gold.

"I'm inclined to give you five hundred out of the nine hundred because you struck the killing blow," Jarlaxle said cheerfully. "Your swiftness was one of the more remarkable sights I have been privileged to witness. I actually missed the killing stroke altogether – faster than the blink of an eye. I was left looking at the blade already skewering the bastard."

Entreri had to grin. "By all means." He was hardly going to say no to Jarlaxle's offer, although admittedly the drow's magical artifacts made their job much easier.

Jarlaxle swept his four hundred gold coins into his hat and plopped the hat back on his head. "I must admit I enjoy playing a support role in a battle. It isn't a popular choice for drow by any means, but I find it uniquely satisfying. Teamwork. That's what I'm after." He grinned up at Entreri.

Entreri found this to be an odd speech. "Why?"

Jarlaxle tilted his head. "Did you not feel a rush to be working in concert with another equal being? Did it not make the battle easier?"

Despite his usual claims on the subject, Entreri found he couldn't really argue that point. "I suppose if one is with an equal, it can be an aid." Certainly Jarlaxle had been so and not a hindrance. Also, fighting back-to-back with Do'Urden had proven so, even if they did hate each other. Still, this was a new and different concept for Entreri to consider.

Jarlaxle nodded. "Exactly." He waved an index finger. "As long as one's partner is one's equal, the result is mutual benefit. And mutual benefit, my friend, is a powerful means of assuring one's success in the world. The power of true partnership can lift one's life out of mere survival and elevate oneself to the precious status of living. I certainly found it so. Most male drow merely subsist. After perfecting the system of partnering with equals, I thrived, even in such a harsh environment." He smirked. "And drow females are keen to discourage males from ever experimenting with teamwork, which was another reason for me to try it. Because if they were set against it, then that meant partnering myself with another of equal skill was likely beneficial."

Entreri could follow that logic, although Jarlaxle's flowery speech about survival versus living flew right over his head. "When those in power actively resist or ban such things, that is usually true."

"So what now?" Jarlaxle asked. "Shall we search out new clients for our services?"

"Indeed." Entreri stowed his share of the gold in a pouch of holding on his belt. The pouch was secured by a magical loop that protected against thieving fingers.

Jarlaxle hopped up from the chair at the desk. "Perhaps the sudden elimination of two guilds from the Iron Ring will mobilize the rest of them to take out a hit on the likeliest culprit," he suggested.

Entreri stood, a wicked smile on his lips. "No doubt. We can offer our services to one side. Then the other."

Jarlaxle rubbed his hands together and laughed. "Until we whittle away the whole slaving ring."

"Precisely." Entreri knew that would be no great loss, and even though he wasn't materialistic, even he could appreciate the amount of gold that would generate for their pockets.

"The last person standing will be paranoid and vulnerable," Jarlaxle said gleefully. "No doubt others would pay through the nose to have the last bastion of the Iron Ring assassinated. If we don't find any takers here we could search Waterdeep for interested parties."

"And find them, I would think," Entreri said.

Jarlaxle nodded. "Granted, new slavers may come, but we shall simply find someone to hire us to assassinate them. Keeping the slave trade laid low may provide a lucrative line of work all by itself."

Entreri headed out of their room again. "I would think so." It would also gain them powerful enemies, though, since the slave trade was a rich industry.

xXx

Three days passed without much action. Entreri and Jarlaxle had tea with Eroan Tauvaul and her sister, Shael, in order to discuss some possibilities, but a specific job had not formed yet.

Entreri and Jarlaxle had found a cheap but decent flat to rent in southern Venter – a third story apartment, one room, but with a private bathroom. Neither of them was much interested in any apartment house with a communal bathroom. Also, the apartment was furnished, which made it easier on them.

Life had basically settled in for them when they headed to lunch at The Gilded Peacock. They tended to eat out at every meal so they could pick up rumors, search for clients, and generally make themselves known. Jarlaxle had proven indispensible on this count, managing to chat up a large quantity of tavern patrons in less than a tenday.

Entreri and Jarlaxle had just been served their mutton stew when a drow male approached them from the bar. He had long silver hair tied into a low ponytail, and despite his youthful appearance, there were bags under his crimson eyes. He appeared soul-weary. He wore plain clothes, all in grey, and wore no adornments or armor of any kind. A single dagger hung at his hip.

Jarlaxle stood and tipped his hat to this newcomer. "May we help you?"

"I hope so," the drow male said. Jarlaxle noticed that while he sounded like an experienced speaker of Common, he hadn't lost his accent. If Jarlaxle had to guess, this male was from the drow city underneath the High Moor, which was southeast of Waterdeep – a city called Eryndlyn in the Upper Underdark, close to the Surface.

"Well, try us," Jarlaxle said. He gestured to a chair.

The male pulled the chair out and sat. He placed his hands on the table in a gesture of peace. "My name is Urldan. I am a weapon smith. I have a small shop of my own in north Venter. The Ak'uech."

"That translates to The Forge," Jarlaxle explained to Entreri.

Urldan nodded. "You know that I am not a rich male. I have tried for years to buy the freedom of someone in the house of Oppus. Darrien Oppus. He was a slaver who died a tenday ago. His brother has taken over the business and is selling off unneeded assets." He pinned Jarlaxle with a burning look. "My son is one of those assets. He is a half-drow."

Jarlaxle raised his eyebrows. "A half-drow? Then you walk in shadows?"

Urldan nodded. "I risk this because you, being what and who you are, must sympathize if not ally yourself with the Masked."

Jarlaxle smiled widely. "It is true. I favor independence for all males crushed underneath Lolth's boot."

"Then you will help me."

Jarlaxle wagged an index finger. "For the right price."

Urldan bowed his head.

"What have you to barter, Urldan of the Masked Lord?" Jarlaxle asked.

Entreri listened to this conversation intently. Something he wasn't quite catching was happening. Something philosophical or religious, and the name "the Masked Lord" suggested religious. Whatever it was, it seemed to be tied to male freedom.

He was also intrigued by the job itself, although he didn't analyze why.

"Favors," Urldan said. "Information."

Jarlaxle waved the suggestions away. "Favors and information are all well and fine, but I want something tangible."

Urldan broke a sweat. "Please. My son. The bidding is in one hour. I cannot afford a lengthy negotiation."

Jarlaxle held up his hand. "Ease your soul, Urldan the Masked." He smiled benignly. "Forge a fine weapon for my friend here. I will bring the materials, you the skill, and if you are any kind of smith at all, you will be able to create the best weapon my friend has ever owned."

Urldan nodded. "I'll do it."

Jarlaxle grinned. "Unconditionally, free of charge."

Urldan and Jarlaxle bartered in Drow, a rapid-fire exchange that ended with Jarlaxle laughing.

"All right," Jarlaxle said in Common. "All right. Ten percent of your usual fee. It is still a deal worth making." He held out his hand.

Urldan drew his dagger. Before Entreri could react, he made a series of crisscrossing gestures in the air over Jarlaxle's palm.

Jarlaxle took the dagger from Urldan and repeated the ritual over Urldan's outstretched hand. Then he handed the dagger back to the weapon smith and remarked to Entreri, "We had best be getting to the slave auctions."

"Auction thirty-one, auction block C," Urldan said quickly. He stood up. Then he detached his coin purse from his belt and handed it to Jarlaxle. "A thousand gold. Count it. My son's price will be high. Bargain well; the remainder shall be your payment. If the price goes over . . ." He bowed his head. "I will forfeit my ten percent."

Jarlaxle nodded. "Understood."

Entreri didn't react, although he was pleased to find he'd be getting a fine sword out of the bargain. Also, he was secretly impressed with Urldan, so he had no complaints about taking the job. "Very well." He stood.

Urldan said, "I will wait at my shop. It is heavily defensible. Also you will see my work and know you have made a fine deal." He bowed and returned to his meal.

Jarlaxle dropped the coinpurse into his hat and threw down coin for their meal. He headed out the door, assured that Entreri would follow.

Entreri was right on his heels. "And here I had gotten the impression drow males were not much involved in their children's lives." He was curious as to why Urldan was different.

Jarlaxle glanced at him as they walked down the street. "Drow males are not allowed to be involved in their children's lives. This is the work of drow females. Urldan follows the Masked Lord. Not to be confused with Mask, the human trickster god. The drow have a Masked Lord of their own; his name is Vhaeraun."

"I see." Entreri considered this information for a moment. "You seemed quite sure he was a follower."

"Vhaeraun is building a force on the Surface," Jarlaxle said. "While this is not precisely the Surface, it is close enough; ordinary drow males would never say they owned a shop. Males are not allowed to own things. He would have said it was his family's shop, or his sister's, or his mother's. But he said that he owned a small shop, meaning that he was on his own, or, conversely, that he is considered the head of his family, which is impossible unless he is one of the Masked."

Then the drow mercenary laughed. "Also, he knew who I was. I have not had many dealings outside of Menzoberranzan, but that does not mean word has not traveled." He puffed out his chest in a playful show of pride. "You garnered us our last job. Now my reputation has gotten us this one."

Entreri was amused. "Indeed." Admittedly, though, he wasn't looking forward to entering a slave auction house. Or being too close to one, period. The stench was incredible, for one. It was much like being down in the sewers, except the addition of caked on dirt and body odors to feces and urine made the smell ten times stronger and more pervasive. Entreri had always known when a slaver ship arrived in Calimport. It reeked so much that he could smell it from miles away.

Once they had gone a few blocks, Jarlaxle finally admitted, "Also, he as good as told me whom he followed because he explained his son is half-drow. Vhaeraun is the only drow deity who encourages interracial marriages. The Masked Lord considers half-drow legitimate drow citizens."

Entreri nodded slowly. He hadn't seen many half-drow in his life, but he was aware they did not get treated well. Not any better than full-blooded drow, of course. Then again, considering what most drow did, he couldn't really blame people for being afraid and therefore intolerant.

They crossed the Venter downward to the heart of the Port, where ramshackle warehouses leaked barnyard smells into the open and rows of gallows stood. That indicated some form of legal system in Skullport, though Jarlaxle hadn't heard anything about what constituted a crime here.

Jarlaxle asked for directions from a half-orc and got steered past the gallows and through a marketplace. From the end of the market they could see the slave auctions.

Raised platforms like the gallows, built of dark wood, stood in a row. The walkways were packed. Slaves and auctioneers, easily told apart, stood on the platforms. Jarlaxle and Entreri slipped through the morass of people to auction block C. A portly man who looked like a thinner, younger version of Darrien Oppus stood on the platform. Behind him were half a dozen human men chained together by their manacles. The younger Oppus brother was in the process of selling off a blonde woman in her mid-twenties.

Jarlaxle couldn't see any slaves out in the open who could even be mistaken for half-drow. "He hasn't brought the one we want out yet," he murmured to Entreri, being purposefully vague because of the crowd.

"Or sold the one we want already," Entreri whispered in return. "Let us hope not, considering."

"I shall be an optimist and say that he hasn't gotten around to the non-human bidding yet," Jarlaxle said.

The younger Oppus called, "She cooks, she cleans, she speaks Common and Alzhedo. Come on, ladies and gents. Do I hear one hundred?"

Jarlaxle scanned the crowd for clues on how to bid in this system, what gestures he would need to know. He found they were rapid-fire and subtle. A man touched his ear. A woman bowed her head in a slight nod. A man who looked all the world like a vampire raised a finger.

Bidding got up to three hundred and fifty gold before the woman was sold to a heavy-set Calishite. He walked up to the platform to collect her and then left the auction.

"Only six humans left," the younger Oppus brother said with a gesture at the slaves behind him. "After that you'll have to settle for half-breeds and monsters. Get 'em while you can, folks. Good, strong, reliable humans."

"We had it timed right," Jarlaxle murmured to Entreri.

Entreri felt like he'd been put off his appetite for the rest of the day, but he wouldn't let himself reflect on why. He really felt as though he were standing among the lowest of all sentient creatures, though. Old memories flitted around the corners of his mind, but he pushed them back and simply nodded at Jarlaxle.

The human men went rapidly. Jarlaxle noticed that the tallest and most muscular of the men got up to eight hundred gold before bidding was over. He hoped that no one wanted a half-drow child that badly.

An assistant of Oppus brought a string of half-orcs onto the platform. Jarlaxle felt badly about the apparent humiliation and despair of these creatures; half-orcs were a proud people, like their full orc relatives. They should be glowering and showing off their formidable strength, like the bouncers at the Dragon Head. Not that many people would understand that.

Beside Jarlaxle, Entreri found himself less disgusted once the half-orcs showed up, able to return to his usual stoicism. His opinion of the people around him would never change, though. _Scum._

Some of the bidders filtered away, allowing Jarlaxle and Entreri to get closer to the platform if they wished. Mean, burly men who looked like working folk bade on the half-orcs. They took on a couple a piece and walked out of the auction, having gotten what they came for.

Entreri and Jarlaxle were two of the last dozen or so bidders left.

Oppus gestured at his assistant. The thin man brought out the next slaves up on the auction block. "We got half-elves here, half-elves. A lovely taste of the exotic. Rebellious if you like breaking 'em in. Intelligent. Skilled with their hands. We got older half-elves, younger half-elves, male, female. Take your pick."

Jarlaxle sighed, then hastily stifled himself. This hit closer to home. They might be half-moon or -gold elves up there, but they wore the same downtrodden expressions as most drow children did. He couldn't stand to look at them.

Entreri's stomach clenched at the "rebellious if you like breaking 'em in" remark, hating the man profoundly in that moment.

The assistant detached the first slave in line and walked her up to the front. Oppus took hold of the chain dangling from her wrists. "First up, a little lady with hair of fire. Bright blue eyes, saucy lips. She'll develop into a beauty in a few years, I can tell you."

Jarlaxle's gaze snapped to the platform at that description. It was the girl from Darrien Oppus' room. The one who'd screamed and whimpered last night when she felt the wind from Entreri's blade.

Before he consciously made up his mind, Jarlaxle jerked his chin.

"Two hundred!" the younger Oppus brother announced. "Two hundred, right out of the gate. Two hundred for a lovely red-head with skin of peaches and cream. Two hundred. Do I hear two-fifty? Who'll give me two-fifty?"

A thin, sallow man with a bald head touched his ear. He wore dark brown robes, and his head was tattooed in the style of the Mulan, the people of Thay. Given the color of his clothes, he wasn't a wizard.

"Two-fifty!"

Jarlaxle touched his own ear.

"Three hundred!"

Jarlaxle felt a little foolish, but he reasoned that he could drop the girl into the Dragon Head Guild. Such a gesture was certain to win him – Entreri and him – favor in their clients' eyes.

"Three hundred, three hundred gold for the young maiden," the younger Oppus called out.

The Thayan dropped out of the bidding, apparently at his limit.

Jarlaxle waited, holding his breath.

Entreri was surprised, but he didn't move a muscle. Jarlaxle definitely had the gold to do what he wanted. He didn't really think Jarlaxle meant to keep her, after all. If he did, Entreri would split ways immediately.

"Three hundred to the drow with the fancy hat," the younger Oppus brother announced.

Jarlaxle grinned briefly at that description and walked up to the platform, fishing the coin from his belt pouch. The girl looked equal parts horrified and confused. She bowed her head, but Jarlaxle had already seen the recognition in her eyes.

Having no experience with this sort of thing, Jarlaxle led her down from the platform carefully. He rejoined Entreri and murmured, "We'll see if the Dragon Head Guild can take her."

The girl glanced up at Entreri through her eyelashes. "Are you going to kill me, too?" she whispered.

Jarlaxle shook his head. "A foolish question given what I just said."

She flinched.

"The Dragon's Head is a female guild," Jarlaxle murmured gently. "Females only."

She stared at him.

Entreri hadn't thought she'd seen him, having believed Jarlaxle's flash had gone off in time to stop her from recognizing them. Now that he knew otherwise, he was grateful Jarlaxle had bought her. "He speaks truly," he said, wondering how Jarlaxle intended to make up for the gold he'd just lost on her.

"I saw you, not him," she said to Jarlaxle. "But he is a warrior so he must have been the one who – "

Jarlaxle pressed his finger to his lips.

She fell silent.

Entreri decided either the Dragon's Head would take her or he'd kill her. Rumors about them would travel, but they didn't need eye witnesses.

"We cannot leave yet," Jarlaxle said to her. "We are here for another reason."

She bowed her head, opting to stare at her feet while the bidding went on in front of them.

After the last half-elf was taken from the platform, the younger Oppus said, "And now for the most exotic of purchases: a half-drow. Are you truly adventurous? Do you want to see a dark elf up close without dying? Or do you just want something a little different for a change?"

The assistant dragged a visibly reluctant little figure onto the stage. Jarlaxle's breath caught in his throat. The boy's light gray skin had a warm purple cast to it, and his long white hair ran down to the tops of his thighs, running wild in some places and braided in others. He was lithe and toned and unspeakably delicate-looking. His ears were almost as finely pointed as a full drow's. The most strikingly odd thing for Jarlaxle was to see the boy's wide, light-brown eyes: the eyes of a human boy.

Jarlaxle glanced around, seeing most of the remaining bidders walk away. A half-drow was apparently too exotic for most.

"A luxurious purchase," the younger Oppus brother insisted. "Bidding starts at five hundred gold."

Another person left, a woman wearing a hooded cloak.

That left Jarlaxle, Entreri, and two others.

Entreri was strangely tense, although once again, he had no idea why. The boy appeared to between ten and twelve years old. He also seemed extra fragile, although his resistance to his handler suggested he had some pluck. Still, Entreri focused his effort on looking merely mildly interested in the proceedings. This was Jarlaxle's show. Entreri just had to play along.

"Five hundred? Do I hear five hundred? Who will give me five hundred for this exotic little lad?"

Jarlaxle touched his nose.

"Five hundred! Five hundred to the drow with the fancy hat."

A merchant with a black mustache and an oddly mottled skin tone reluctantly made a flat gesture with his hand.

"Five hundred ten! We have five hundred ten for the half-drow boy. Five hundred ten to the merchant."

A woman with a dusky complexion who wore black armor frowned and made the same gesture with her hand.

"Five hundred twenty! Five hundred twenty to the warrior in black armor. Do I hear five hundred thirty?"

The merchant gave the younger Oppus brother the five hundred thirty.

Jarlaxle waited, hoping they would bid each other out.

The merchant outbid the woman in black armor at seven hundred. She turned on her heel and walked away in disgust.

"Seven hundred for the exotic experience of owning a half-drow. Seven-hundred for the beautiful, savage half-drow boy."

Jarlaxle touched his ear.

"Seven hundred fifty!"

The merchant frowned and gestured.

"Seven hundred sixty!"

Jarlaxle touched his ear.

"Eight hundred and ten!"

The merchant left.

"Eight hundred and ten to the drow in the fancy hat," the younger Oppus brother declared.

Jarlaxle went up, paid the coin from Urldan's purse, and took the boy from the slaver with a show of stoicism. The girl stayed with Entreri until he got back with the boy. Then they left the slave market.

Jarlaxle didn't dare to say a word until they were in the Venter. At the corner of an intersection, Jarlaxle paused and took a breath.

"Don't speak. Just show," Entreri said. He wasn't sure how the boy would react to hearing his father had arranged his purchase. If the boy was going to explode, in happiness or hysteria, then he might as well do it within the safety of his father's shop.

The boy looked at them both warily.

Jarlaxle looked at Entreri ruefully. "You're right."

They walked the five blocks to the northern part of the Venter. Jarlaxle looked around for the right way to go.

All of a sudden the boy let out a yell and wrenched out of Jarlaxle's grasp. He took off running with all of his might.

Jarlaxle ran to the end of the street, saw the sign halfway down the next street, and laughed. "He found The Ak'uech for us."

The drow mercenary waited until the girl and Entreri caught up with him, and they walked down the street to Urldan's shop together.

Entreri felt a flash of understanding. Or something. He'd never had someone to run to, but he did understand making a break for his freedom. He walked up the street to the shop with a bizarre sensation in his chest. It wasn't unpleasant, so he didn't fight it.

Jarlaxle opened the shop door and walked in. Among anvils and tables, he saw that Urldan had already broken off his son's shackles with his smithing equipment. They stood by the fireplace. The boy's arms were securely around his father's waist, and his head was buried against Urldan's chest. Urldan, in return, protectively clutched his son to him.

"Greetings," Jarlaxle said.

Both father and son looked up. Urldan looked more tired than before, but infinitely happier. The boy gave a jerk and a squeak.

Urldan murmured something quick in Drow and the boy relaxed. Immediately after, tears welled up in the boy's eyes and spilled down his cheeks. "Kel'chev . . . "

"Dal'chev," Urldan said gently. "I told you I would not stop trying."

Entreri halted in the doorway, unable to step further into the room. The effect was as sure as though he'd hit a brick wall. This forced the woman to remain outside; she was right behind his left shoulder.

Jarlaxle glanced at Entreri curiously.

The boy stood frozen for a second after his father's declaration. Then he turned and tackled his father more tightly than ever. "Kel'chev! Kel'chev . . . " He shook his head, rubbing his face against his father's tunic. Then he choked out, "Usstan kyon dos."

That was too much even for Jarlaxle. "Remember our deal," he said. Then he backed out of the shop, swung the 'open' sign around to 'closed', and shut the door.

He turned to Entreri and put on a smile. "Let's go to the Dragon's Head Guild."

Entreri was already headed down the street. He didn't know much drow, but he had recognized the words "I" and "you." He could guess the boy had said "I love you," or whatever the drow equivalent was. The pain in his chest felt like he'd shoved his own sword through his sternum.

Even then, he couldn't begrudge the boy his better fate.

Jarlaxle nodded to himself and followed, the girl choosing to trail after him warily. She rightly sensed the assassin was no one to be around right now. No one with experience in such things could miss the smell of Wounded.

Because of his own experience, Jarlaxle felt a sense of tingling numbness. He knew it would be hours before he felt completely himself again. The drow mercenary didn't often address the gods. He didn't follow one, after all. But in this case . . . _Vhaeraun, watch over them. You are supposed to be giving them a better life, after all._

Since he was a small child, Jarlaxle knew that Vhaeraun was the only deity that could earn his devotion from him. But that was still a long ways off. Jarlaxle didn't think he could attend any kind of religious service without vomiting.

When Entreri reached Dragon's Head, he showed his token and was let in along with Jarlaxle and the woman. This time, Shael was nowhere to be seen, and the new woman caught immediate attention from the other females present.

A middle-aged woman with squinty eyes and big biceps was the first up from her table. She left her flagon of ale and crossed the room with sure steps. She wore studded leather armor, and her hair was pulled back in a severe knot.

"I'd like to speak with Lady Shael if at all . . . " Jarlaxle trailed off at the sight of the woman smiling. Not at him. At the young woman.

"We'll help you out, honey," she said, laying a callused hand on the girl's shoulder gently. "It's okay. It happened to me, too. A lot of us here are ex-slaves. You'll be safe here. We'll teach you a trade. You'll become one of us: the Sisterhood of the Dragon's Head."

The redheaded girl followed the woman with silent awe. The others closed ranks around them, murmuring greetings and encouragement.

Jarlaxle and Entreri were distinctly ignored.

" . . . possible," Jarlaxle finished for his own satisfaction.

"I don't think we're actually here," Entreri said. "Your mouth was moving, you thought sounds were coming out . . . but no."

Jarlaxle chuckled wryly. "Let's go. It's enough that they've accepted her." He turned around and walked out the door.

Entreri followed him out. He didn't speak again until they were closer to their flat. "So. Why lose three hundred gold on the woman?"

Jarlaxle waved his hand. "First of all, I recognized her. There was a small chance she could have seen us, which turned out to be true. I couldn't let her fall into just anyone's hands. Second of all, I had a hunch that the Dragon's Head took in people like her. What better way to curry favor with our clients? Though it may be unfair, we need to constantly prove ourselves around females like Lady Shael and Lady Eroan."

Entreri nodded. It made sense. "Well, we don't have to sink too much gold into currying their favor. But I see your point."

Jarlaxle grinned. "In this case, I saw it as an investment. That three hundred gold will likely return to us in the form of thousands of gold in jobs. Such will not always be the case, but in this instance, the call was easy to make." He was drow. It was his prerogative to put a spin on his actions after the fact that put him in the best possible light.

Since it wasn't Entreri lost gold, he wasn't worried about it. Just curious. He nodded again and turned his thoughts to a more favorable topic:

The new sword he was apparently going to receive.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Once again, thank you to my reviewers!**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

A few days later, Jarlaxle and Entreri were halfway through their lunch at the Sprightly Goblin when a familiar female voice cut through the background noise. "I'm impressed."

Jarlaxle looked over his shoulder and saw Shael the Slayer standing five steps behind him. He stood and bowed. "Good afternoon."

Entreri merely bowed his head without standing. "Impressed with what?"

Shael grinned, tilting her head faintly. "Apparently you two saved a female slave from the auction." Her gaze focused on Jarlaxle. "You, more specifically. Laudriel said you were the one who bought her, and then the two of you brought her to us. She implied it was to give her into our safekeeping."

Jarlaxle straightened and nodded. "It was. I could think of no better place for her than among you."

"A drow with a heart?" Shael asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jarlaxle grinned. "Perhaps." He gestured elegantly. "I pride myself on being surprising."

Shael snorted. Entreri did as well, so they ended up making the sound in unison.

"Well, Eroan is impressed, which I assume was most of the point." Shael stepped closer. "Although regardless of your motives, Laudriel will have a better life now."

Entreri assumed Laudriel was the name of the young woman. "Good intentions or evil intentions aside, a good deed is done?"

"Exactly." Shael shrugged.

"I have no objections to doing good deeds," Jarlaxle declared. He changed the subject. "I assume you are not here to bolster my self-esteem, but rather because you have a message from your sister."

Shael nodded. "She's got a job for you two. Come by at six o'clock this evening."

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to her. "We shall." 

* * *

At six o'clock sharp Entreri showed their token to the half-orc bouncers at the door of the Dragon's Head Tavern. They were allowed in. By this time, no one was particularly surprised to see them. Jarlaxle received some casually flirtatious glances, as did Entreri, but mostly they were ignored. After a moment's wait Shael appeared and led them upstairs.

Entreri had gotten to the point he could utterly ignore their surroundings, so he made it to Mistress Tauvaul's office without thinking much of anything.

Tauvaul was in her wingback chair again, this time sipping a brandy. "Come in, gents. Would you like some brandy?"

Jarlaxle gave her his elaborate bow. "Good evening, Lady Tauvaul. I am honored and do accept."

Tauvaul chuckled and gestured for them to sit in the plain leather chairs.

"Yes, thank you," Entreri said.

Shael fixed all three of them glasses and then took her place at Eroan's side.

"Thank you," Jarlaxle said. He sipped the brandy after carefully judging its aroma. "This is delicious. Sweet, but not cloying. You clearly have good taste."

"Why thank you." Tauvaul took another sip of her own. "Well, about the job. The Dragon's Head Guild does a fair trade in a few areas, including poisons, potions, and leather armor, as well as services such as massage therapy. We do our best to make use of the skill set our women have."

"And many of your guildwomen are former slaves," Entreri said, suspecting as much after bringing in Laudriel.

"Yes," Tauvaul said.

Jarlaxle smiled. "Your guild serves an important purpose in the society of Skullport."

"Although it is ironic that you deal in male slaves, given your apparent position on female ones," Entreri dared to point out.

Eroan and Shael just chuckled.

"It is, indeed," Tauvaul agreed. "But these males are safe. My women can indulge their natural needs here without fear of abuse, rape, or callousness, which are all things they know too well."

Jarlaxle nodded. "I understand the logic. When one has experienced pain at the hands of another, safety becomes of paramount importance." That was, after all, why most Vhaeraunite males married females outside of their race.

Entreri kept further comments to himself because he didn't care about the males' fate. Still, if any of the males here were suffering because they didn't wish to be slaves or concubines, then Tauvaul was just doing to them what had been done to her women. And maybe herself. He felt that was inherently twisted, but then again, things like these were exactly why he hated the whole world.

Tauvaul inclined her head. "Yes. Very much so. At any rate, there are some Skulkers here who are horning in on our poison trade."

Entreri and Jarlaxle had learned that Skullport had natives called Skulkers, who were the long-time residents who weren't part of any guilds. They were mostly adventurers and thieves who banded together for protection, but in their effort to make gold, they often ran afoul of the more powerful guilds.

"Ah." Jarlaxle swirled the brandy in his glass and then took a small sip. "That is what you wish us to take care of, then. How big is their group? Where can they usually be found?"

"About twenty-five," Eroan said. "And they can usually be found in southern Venter. Their favorite tavern is The Orc Teat. Given the name, you can guess why. The leader is a half-orc male with a tall, red mohawk and a black eye patch. He looks almost fully human except his canines are too large and protrude from his mouth."

Jarlaxle nodded slowly, taking this in. "What would you have us do? Are we to exterminate them or force them out?"

Tauvaul shrugged. "Your pick. Just as long as they don't return to bother me and my guild again."

Entreri sipped on his brandy, reflecting that the world was basically the same everywhere. Local foods, dialects, cultures, and clothing might shift or change, but the people and institutions really didn't change much at all.

Jarlaxle grinned. "We shall use our own discretion." For him, that meant trying to manipulate and negotiate. For Entreri . . . well, perhaps the assassin wouldn't want the chore of killing twenty-five people who likely weren't up to the man's skill level.

"And the pay?" Entreri asked, thinking of practical matters.

"1500 gold total," Tauvaul said. "Again, you'll get a third upfront."

On cue, Shael went and got a gold of coin from behind her sister's desk. She handed it to Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle took off his hat and dropped it in. "Thank you. Shall we begin right away?"

"By all means," Tauvaul said.

"Let's," Entreri agreed, setting his half-empty glass on the end table and standing. He never drank enough to impede his ability to fight.

Jarlaxle stood as well and tipped his hat to them. His glass was mostly empty when he set it down. "Thank you for the lovely drink. We shall return when we have completed our objective."

"To a successful night, then," Tauvaul said.

Shael, as usual, showed them out. They actually passed Laudriel in the tavern, and she gave them a smile and a wave. That suggested to Entreri she had a good ability to bounce back, and that said good things about her strength.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to her with a smile and waved in return. Once they were on the street, he remarked, "I am glad to see my investment is worthwhile. Also, Laudriel was wearing leather armor with a short sword at her belt, which suggests they are training her in combat."

Entreri nodded. "They seem enthusiastic about bringing her into the fold." He'd never seen that in a guild before. "Her chances of survival seem good, considering." With him, most things got measured by the standard of survival.

Jarlaxle grinned at him. "Quite."

The mercenary noted that his partner, while not exactly warm, did seem to care about the fate of the girl. Together with Entreri's reaction to the half-drow boy being reunited with his father, this strongly hinted that the assassin had experienced slavery in the past. This made sense, given Jarlaxle's understanding that slavery was legal in Calimshan. _Perhaps Artemis Entreri is even an ex-slave himself._

"Shall we have dinner at The Orc's Teet?" Jarlaxle asked.

Entreri snorted. "We shall. Although I do not care to see any orc teets while I am there."

Jarlaxle laughed. "I hope they have not illustrated their sign."

Entreri grimaced.

Southern Venter was a slum. Jarlaxle noticed that the quality of life became poorer as one neared the waterfront. Some buildings were merely salvaged wood, canvas, and twine. The streets became increasingly slimy and slippery as they went.

Jarlaxle almost stepped in a pool of black sludge dripping down from uphill and cringed, stepping around it. Most of the people around them were half-orcs, with a few humans and orcs thrown in. Most of them wore broad wooden hats designed to shield them from water dripping from above and oilskins to further insulate them from moisture. Their boots were tall and thick-soled.

Jarlaxle wondered where he and Entreri could purchase such equipment. Until then, he quietly murmured a command word and shielded himself and the assassin from contamination.

They almost walked right past the dilapidated shack and would have if Jarlaxle had not looked up and seen the sign: two misshapen green circles with a dark green dot roughly in the center of each one. He stared. Then he saw it. Jarlaxle looked away quickly. "We've found it."

Sounds that could be music if one politely stretched the truth came from inside the structure, as did the smell of frying fish.

Entreri's nose wrinkled. "I don't know that I can actually eat here. Depends on what shape the place is in. And what shape the food is in."

Jarlaxle nodded. "Dinner might have to wait." He summoned his courage and trusted the door not to fall off when he touched it. Then he swung the door open and sauntered in, looking around quickly.

There was a bar to the left with half-orcs and orcs bellied up to it, nursing drinks and eating plates of fried, battered fish. The middle of the tavern was taken up with round tables. A few battered humans were sprinkled into a crowd of overwhelmingly orcish origin. Across the room and at the far right were cleared areas where females danced.

Jarlaxle looked around for a free table and suddenly realized that one of the dancing women was taking off her shirt. She was a tall, amply proportioned half-orc with dusky green skin.

Entreri was losing his appetite quickly.

Jarlaxle sidled between the tables and sat down to avoid being too obvious. Unfortunately, from this vantage point he could see a full-blooded orc woman giving a male orc a lap dance.

Entreri angled his chair so that he was facing the door. For the first time in his life, he was sorry to have such good peripheral vision, and he did his best to tune it out.

Jarlaxle steeled himself and glanced around. He caught sight of a flash of red and homed in on it. It was the half-orc Skulker with the bright red mohawk. His ears were pierced, and he wore studded leather armor with a club at his belt. Five other men sat at his table. All of them were drinking ale; they looked bonelessly relaxed. This was definitely a familiar haunt of theirs. The Skulkers sat six tables away, their attention trained on the exotic dancers.

Silently, Jarlaxle directed Entreri's attention to their targets.

Entreri scanned the men, then nodded to Jarlaxle. It was hard to say how many of the other men present were Skulkers, and specifically the ones they were after. Starting a fight in the tavern could have several different outcomes: they could be ganged up on, or the drunken patrons might all turn on each other.

Jarlaxle shook his head, signaling for Entreri to wait. He wanted to get a feel for their targets before acting.

The half-orc with the red mohawk suddenly stood up. He clapped and whistled, sticking his fingers in his mouth. "Take it all off, I take you home! Yeah!"

Jarlaxle stifled a snort. The Skulkers' leader was fall-down drunk.

The object of his attention was a comically rotund woman more orc than human. All that stood between her and indecency were a loincloth and tasseled pasties. Jarlaxle supposed that to a half-orc her tusks might seem pleasing.

Entreri glanced in the direction of the leader's interest then quickly glanced away again. They were both half-orcs, so it made sense attraction would be there. At least on the man's side. That didn't make it any more pleasant to watch from Entreri's point of view, however.

Jarlaxle found himself watching in horrified amusement as the dancer responded to the mohawked man's enthusiasm, shaking her hips in an overtly sexual manner and toying with her nose ring. Then he tore his gaze away and murmured to Entreri, "For him to be this comfortable we must be sitting in his headquarters. I suspect we are surrounded by the entirety of the Skulker gang."

"Lovely," Entreri drawled. Admittedly, though, a barmaid hadn't even approached them yet. He didn't think they'd be refused service, but he did suspect they were low on the list of considerations.

"If he or one of his relatives doesn't own this tavern, it is definitely under their protection," Jarlaxle said. Meaning they had no hope of striking here even if they wanted to.

Entreri nodded. Better to track them, see where they went, get a sense of where their strengths and weaknesses lay.

An orc woman charged up to their table, scowling at them. She wore a halter top and a long loincloth. Before Jarlaxle could say anything, she grunted, "You eat here. What you eat? Fish or potatoes? What you drink? We got ale and wine."

Jarlaxle bit his lip to keep from laughing in her face. _Orcish service._ The novelty of it outweighed his alarm.

"Ale," Entreri said. "Potatoes."

"Ale and potatoes. What you eat, drow?" The orc barmaid gave him a beady stare.

Jarlaxle put on his most disarming grin. "Fish. Wine. White wine."

"Whole fish, fish stew, fried fish."

"Ah . . . " Jarlaxle tried to think of what was least likely to give him food poisoning. "Fish stew."

"You wait here. I get back when I ready." She stomped away.

Entreri shook his head. "Looks like we'll attempt eating."

Jarlaxle finally let out his mirth, chuckling behind his hand to keep the noise down. "'You wait here. I get back when I ready,'" he quoted, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

Entreri smirked. "Well, you're brave for trying the fish anything. I ordered the potatoes in hopes I could avoid food poisoning."

"I ordered fish stew for the same reason," Jarlaxle countered. "Stew is cooked a long time, therefore rendering its ingredients inert, and fish is their specialty. Everyone is eating it."

"Same goal, different methods." Entreri glanced at their targets. "And what is your method in this case?"

"Watch them," Jarlaxle said. "We weren't given orders to hurry, so we examine our foes and pinpoint any weaknesses, any advantages we have. Personally, I would prefer to shift rather than destroy them. If they've any other avenues besides the peddling of poisons, we should see they pursue it. I hesitate to eliminate Skulkers. They are common folk seeking to make a living, not slavers who prey on those around them. If we meddle too much in the affairs of the Skulkers there will be retribution."

Entreri pondered that, then nodded slowly. He could see the logic in that. "We don't need to make a whole city of enemies."

Jarlaxle smiled. "Exactly. We need to fit in somewhere. Ultimately, we are the most like the Skulkers, and the Skulkers are the backbone of Skullport. Without them nothing would function. Particularly, the orc and half-orc population here keeps Skullport running. Undermining them would only damage the city we seek to pull profit from." He glanced across the room. "Prepare yourself. I see our lovely barmaid returning."

The orc woman walked with a tray in each hand, arm muscles bulging. She set down their meals in front of them with surprising gentleness, presenting it wooden tray and all. "Eat. Drink." Without waiting for a reply she marched off.

Jarlaxle was startled by the pleasing aroma coming from his fish stew. "Artemis, I think this might be all right."

Entreri glanced up from his heaping plate of grilled potato wedges smothered in cheese. A bowl of gravy set on the edge of the tray, and he vaguely remembered that there was potato dish that included drowning the potatoes in cheese and gravy. But that wasn't what had caught his attention. Very few people ever called him Artemis. Mostly he was called by his surname. Sometimes even his entire name. "We'll find out." He picked up his fork and straightforwardly picked through all the potato wedges, looking for bugs. Finding none, he took a bite.

He was incredibly surprised to find it was delicious.

Jarlaxle was reassured by the look on Entreri's face after that first bite. He picked up his spoon, shockingly clean, and dipped it into the stew. He brought a mouthful of creamy broth, potato, and whitefish to his mouth, smelling it first. It smelled sweet and savory, nuanced and herbal. He ate it. "Oh, mother Chauntea. This is delicious." He took another bite, shocked.

Then he finally noticed the fresh roll beside his bowl of stew and broke it open. A fluffy white interior released a cloud of steam and a fresh, yeasty smell. He dipped the bread in his stew and ate it, marveling at the perfection of it. "Someone knows how to make bread. And stew." Jarlaxle glanced at Entreri's plate. "And potatoes. Who in Toril is in the kitchen?"

"A very talented orcish cook, apparently," Entreri said, dipping his forkful of potatoes in the gravy. The more he watched the orcs and half-orcs around him, the more certain he was that Jarlaxle was right about the situation. They all seemed to know each other and be on good terms with each other.

"This could be it," Jarlaxle said. He ate a few spoonfuls of stew and continued, "This cooking. This could be what they could invest in instead of the poison trade. All I have to do is convince them – nay, assure them – that this food is worth more than they are asking for it, and this place can serve far more people if properly managed."

"Just advise them to have nights without the strippers," Entreri said dryly. "Or maybe open a second business elsewhere."

Jarlaxle nodded. "That's good for a start. But if they wish to have strippers, then they should have ones of different races. They also need to advertise properly. There is a lot that goes into making a brand. One must consider who has the coin to spend versus customer loyalty. I'll have to think on this and develop a pitch before we approach them, but I think this could be the right way to handle this job."

Entreri just shook his head. His way to handle the job would be to kill them all, but he didn't mind watching Jarlaxle at work. He was still gathering information on his new partner, after all.

They finished their meal to the sounds of the Skulker leader badly singing an orcish drinking song. Jarlaxle flagged down the barmaid and asked for the bill. Upon hearing it was five copper per meal, he knew that he could substantially improve their business. He paid, and they departed.

As they left the slums of southern Ventor, Jarlaxle declared to Entreri, "I shall think on it tonight, and by the morning I will have a solution." 

* * *

When Entreri awakened the next day, he had the impression that Jarlaxle had stayed up well into the night, but the drow didn't seem the worse for wear for it. His partner was grinning.

After breakfast, Jarlaxle declared, "We shall go back to The Orc Teat and present ourselves as entrepreneurs. I shall do the talking, but you, my friend, will follow along with this." He pulled a silver whistle on a leather cord out of his belt pouch and passed it to the assassin. "This will allow you to understand and speak any language. I can already speak Orcish, so I have no need of it for this business meeting."

Entreri accepted the whistle, his appreciation for Jarlaxle's magical arsenal growing. "Very well."

Jarlaxle nodded and stood. He laid coin on the table for their breakfast and led the way out of the tavern.

As they walked towards southern Ventor, Jarlaxle chatted. "The person who owns The Orc Teat is the Skulker leader's uncle. He is a full-blooded orc named Lagazi. Lagazi Sormuzhik, as a matter of fact. The Sormuzhik family is widespread. I would say there is at least one Sormuzhik in every city in Faerun. Our man with the red mohawk is Targ Sormuzhik, the son of Lagazi's older brother and a human woman. Apparently it's something of a romance: Agnetha of the northern barbarian tribe of the Bear was rescued in battle by Gar, Targ's father. She was wounded. Gar took her back to his orc camp, having fallen madly in love with her for her battle prowess. Eventually, because of their unorthodox relationship, they moved here to Skullport to escape prying eyes."

Entreri listened with half an ear. Orcs, battle, romance, blah. "She must have been blinded in the battle as well."

Jarlaxle laughed. He wiped a tear away and said, "You'll never guess who is in the kitchen."

"You're right," Entreri said. "I won't."

Jarlaxle laughed again. "Why, Gar, of course. He broke his leg badly during a battle at the Port two years ago and now serves as The Orc Teat's cook."

Entreri took a moment to think back and pull the family tree together. "I see. From warrior to chef. Interesting choice."

Jarlaxle nodded. "Indeed. From what I understand of orc culture, this also explains the low prices. Non-warriors are not valued. So you see, with my help The Orc Teat will be able to pull in more non-orc customers, who will be willing to pay more for their food, and Targ won't have to work so hard with his Skulker gang to help his father. That's what this is all about. The poison trade is lucrative. Even having a small slice of the trade is enough to keep The Orc Teat's head above water. Originally the place was merely a strip club, but Lagazi allowed Gar to try turning it into a pub as well."

The drow mercenary gestured. "Think, if we could get Gar into his own space under a different name so he could open up a proper restaurant, business would soar. The person we're coming to talk to today is Gar, not Lagazi." Jarlaxle shook his head. "Of course, I do not have such high hopes. Gar will likely choose to remain at The Orc Teat."

Entreri couldn't care less. "Well, if they resist, I'll get a good workout today."

Jarlaxle sighed. "Can you think of nothing but killing?"

"I don't enjoy killing," Entreri said. "I have no feelings about their existence one way or another. It's just simple facts: they can follow your plan to a better life, or they can die. It's entirely their choice. Given it's their lives, I have no opinion on the matter."

Jarlaxle reassessed the assassin and nodded. "You're right, of course. But I prefer to believe that Gar will choose to be adaptable. He has adapted in the past: he grabbed love where he found it, he moved to Skullport, and he found another skill to invest in when being a warrior for hire was no longer an option."

Entreri wondered if he would prove to be so adaptable if he lost the ability to fight. It wasn't the kind of question he liked to ponder. "Fair enough."

When they reached the slums, Jarlaxle once again protected them from the sludge with a shield spell. He took it off once they came inside The Orc Teat. In the daytime it was deserted. No strippers, no customers. Jarlaxle saw at once that he was right: to do well Gar would need to move into his own space.

The orc barmaid from last night saw them and stared incredulously. She stopped wiping down the table in front of her.

"I will speak to Gar Sormuzhik," Jarlaxle declared in Orcish.

She recognized him but did not argue. Hearing her own language spoken with such asperity, the usual tone of a leader to a follower, appeared to cow her. "He is in the back," she replied.

Jarlaxle noticed double doors by the bar. "There?"

"There."

Jarlaxle strode across the room and pushed through the double doors. There was no word for 'thank you' in Orcish, nor would the sentiment make any sense to them.

Entreri pulled out the whistle and blew it, wanting to understand the conversation. No sound emerged, but he assumed the magic worked. He stowed it in a pocket, assuming Jarlaxle would ask for it back later.

Beyond the double doors they found themselves in a surprisingly large and clean kitchen. A burly orc with the typical male scowl in place was scrubbing down a stove top with a rag, a bucket of soapy water sitting on the counter. When Jarlaxle saw the crutch propped against the side of the stove he knew this was Gar.

"You will stop cleaning and speak to me," Jarlaxle said. Orcish did not have such things as requests. There were only demands and counter-demands.

Gar looked up at him and froze incredulously. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen?" he demanded. His voice was impressively guttural.

"I like your cooking," Jarlaxle said impassively. Smiles in orc custom were for jokes.

Entreri simply remained stoic. He didn't know any of the subtleties of Orcish culture, but he got the basic idea.

"I will not cook for you now. Come back later. Food is served at five. No earlier." Gar went back to scrubbing his range.

"I will not come back later. I will not eat. I come here on business. You will listen." Jarlaxle folded his arms across his chest.

Gar assessed him warily and stopped scrubbing once more. "I will listen," he said grudgingly.

Jarlaxle gestured sharply. "You will not sell your food for five copper anymore. It is too valuable. Customers must pay more. Your food is superior to everyone else's."

"I will not sell my food for more coin," Gar retorted. "No one will pay for food."

"Non-orcs will," Jarlaxle said.

"Non-orcs will not eat orc food."

"They will. I did. He did." Jarlaxle pointed at Entreri. Then he narrowed his visible eye at Gar. "Your food is delicious. You cook strongly. Food is your strength now. You will use your strength. Open a restaurant."

Gar looked shaken and dismayed. "Restaurant?"

Jarlaxle knew he had the orc. "Restaurant. Cooks have restaurants when their food is strong. You must have a restaurant."

"This . . . This is a non-orc thing."

Jarlaxle agreed loftily, "It is a non-orc thing. Your wife is also a non-orc thing. Non-orc things can be good. Leave The Orc Teat and make a restaurant. I will invest in this restaurant. Non-orcs invest in things that have not happened yet. You will make this restaurant happen."

"Why do you want this restaurant to happen?" Gar asked.

Jarlaxle had wondered if Gar would get around to this question. "I am an entrepreneur. An entrepreneur sees people with strong skills and gives strong people new ways to show their strength. In return, entrepreneurs collect small coin over long periods of time. Out of one hundred gold, I will collect one gold."

"I will not make one hundred gold," Gar protested.

"You will make many hundreds of gold," Jarlaxle said. "Thousands. More than that. A horde. Your cooking is strong. You will charge one gold for every meal. Your restaurant will serve fifty people at one time. In two meals you will have one hundred gold."

Gar stared at him.

"I will give you a new restaurant if you will give me one gold for every one hundred gold you make," Jarlaxle said. He glowered. "And you will run this restaurant with your son and his Skulkers. You will not deal in poison. Poison is weak. Cooking is strong."

Being drow, Jarlaxle had an advantage here. Entreri kept silent while Jarlaxle straightforwardly manipulated the orc.

Gar looked at Jarlaxle blankly. "Why will I need Targ and his Skulkers?"

"A restaurant needs people who ask customers what they want to eat and drink," Jarlaxle said. He gestured. "A restaurant needs people to wash dishes and clean floors. A restaurant needs people to serve food and drink and to help make food and drink. You will need Targ and his Skulkers to help in the restaurant. Otherwise the restaurant will not work and there will be no gold."

"Targ and his Skulkers will want to be paid," Gar said.

"You will pay them," Jarlaxle said. "This will be easy. How many Skulkers does Targ have?"

"Twenty-five," Gar said.

"Then you will have all of them work sometimes," Jarlaxle said. He gestured. "You will have shifts. No one works too much. Everyone takes home gold. Split the group in two. Twelve will work one day, thirteen will work the next day. They trade off."

Entreri was beginning to appreciate Jarlaxle's brilliance. He was also taking note of how he worked.

"What will Targ do?" Gar said, finally deferring to Jarlaxle as a superior.

Jarlaxle inwardly relaxed. "How is Targ strong?"

"Targ is . . . " Gar searched for the word.

Jarlaxle waited.

"Targ knows what people want," Gar said. "He approaches them, and he convinces them."

Jarlaxle frowned. This was a sign of approval in orc custom. "Targ is 'persuasive.'" He quoted the word in Common. "This means he will be strong as the front of house. The front of house is the person in charge of the dining area of a restaurant. He will make sure everyone gets what they want."

Gar nodded. "Yes. Yes."

Jarlaxle held out his left hand and drew a dagger with his right. "We swear on blood. I give you a new restaurant. You give me one gold for every one hundred gold and use Targ and his Skulkers. No more poison trade."

Gar nodded. "Yes. We swear on blood to those terms."

Jarlaxle pricked his left ring finger, drawing a drop of blood. Then he handed the dagger to Gar. The orc did the same.

Gar handed back the dagger.

Jarlaxle sheathed it as is. Wiping off the blood would be an insult. He would do it later out of sight, as custom demanded. "I leave now. You tell Targ and his Skulkers there is no more poison trade. I will come back in three days and take you, Targ, and Skulkers to the new restaurant."

"You go now," Gar agreed.

Jarlaxle turned on his heel and marched out.

Entreri followed. Jarlaxle definitely had a complementary set of skills: diplomacy, charisma, persuasion, and organizational leadership. To a certain extent, they were opposites. As iffy as Entreri was on the topic of partnership, he had to admit the combination made sense.

When they were back in central Ventor, Jarlaxle allowed himself to smile. "I think that went well."

"Very well," Entreri agreed. "You manipulated him right where you wanted him."

Jarlaxle grinned and tipped his hat to Entreri at the compliment. "I am lucky enough to understand orcs. Otherwise it would have been impossible. Orc customs and those of most other peoples are opposites."

"I noticed the talk was abrupt," Entreri said.

Jarlaxle nodded. "One must always speak from a place of strength. In a way, orcs assert their realities at each other until one person's reality wins. It's a very interesting mode of interaction. The person with the most persistence wins. The first wavering of conviction is a sign of imminent defeat. I knew I had Gar at 'restaurant.'"

"Oh?"

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Gar was surprised. Surprise is an admission that someone else's reality might carry weight in your own. I used a very simple argument: Gar is a cook. Cooks have restaurants. Therefore, Gar must have a restaurant. Because I know more about cooks than Gar, I won the negotiation."

Entreri snorted. "I see." He quirked an eyebrow at Jarlaxle. "And do different people truly have different realities?"

Jarlaxle laughed. "That is a matter of philosophy. I would say different people definitely have different perceptions. That much has been proven physically: when you see the world from another person's eyes via a spell, the world looks different. Different races of people have different acuteness of each of their senses. As for realities . . . I think it has also been proven that each person's mind is different. So each person puts together their different senses and different abilities to feel and think into an overall impression of the world around them. In a manner of speaking, there are 'different' realities."

Entreri had been interested to see what Jarlaxle would say, but he didn't weigh in on the matter. "Well, in this case, your reality was a great deal stronger."

Jarlaxle rubbed his hands together. "And now that I've annexed Gar into my reality, I can set about buying and preparing the property that is going to become his new restaurant. Building new businesses is one of my chief joys in life, particularly if it capitalizes on a rare talent. An orc who can cook that deliciously is a rare acquisition to be treasured."

Entreri took this enthusiasm in stride. As best he could tell, Jarlaxle's enthusiasm was not the least bit feigned. Ever. "Indeed."

"If you don't mind I'll part ways with you here and look into the local real estate," Jarlaxle said. "I doubt you'll see much of me for the next few days."

Entreri nodded. "Yes. I'll leave you to it." And gladly. He needed some time to himself to recuperate and adjust to this very new and different life. 

* * *

The next time Entreri saw Gar, Targ, and the Skulkers, they were wearing crisp white uniforms and aprons. Jarlaxle dragged him to the grand opening of Gar's Grub to eat an inaugural meal. Watching the formerly grimy, streetwise men scramble around taking orders from the interested crowd was sheer entertainment. Targ speaking fluent, polite Common as he seated customers at their tables topped it all off. And, of course, the food was delicious.

Jarlaxle's venture proved to be an overwhelming success, and on top of that, they scored more gold from Eroan Tauvaul.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

When Jarlaxle and Entreri came to collect the fee for getting the Skulkers out of the poison business, they could tell something was up. Shael and Eroan exchanged significant glances with each other. Mistress Tauvaul handed over the gold readily enough, but Jarlaxle didn't feel free to go.

As a result of his hovering, Shael commented to her sister, "If you're going to ask then you may as well ask now."

Jarlaxle bowed. "If there is anything you wish to ask, please do. We invite your openness."

Tauvaul sighed. "Indeed. Well, then, I have a smaller job for you, should you be willing to accept it. The half-elf you saved, Laudriel, has a twin sister named Nlaea. Nlaea, according to our spies, will be sold by Flygon's estate today. Laudriel has arranged to pay us if we will front the gold to have her sister's freedom bought. However, Flygon's widow is quite well aware of who we are, as is his uncle, who will be running the auction. They will recognize some of our guildmembers, and they will be suspicious of any woman who attempts to buy Nlaea. They would only sell to a male buyer."

Entreri's brow furrowed. "Did you just tell us that Flygon's widow . . . is a _man_?"

Tauvaul smirked.

Entreri sighed.

Jarlaxle was surprised as well, but he hid his reaction. "Naturally we will play the part of the purchaser in the plan to assure Nlaea's freedom. Given that we may have been observed last time, I will disguise my identity, and Entreri should do the bidding." He asked delicately, "Is price an object or is there no limit to how high the bidding goes, as long as the result is Nlaea's freedom?"

"Do your best to keep it under control, but Laudriel is willing to work off her debt for the rest of her life if necessary," Eroan said.

Entreri was shocked that such family loyalty actually existed. Assuming, of course, that Laudriel was telling the truth. Clearly the Tauvaul sisters thought so, though, or they wouldn't be hiring them. "And our payment?"

"Laudriel said you paid about 800 gold for her, so we'll give you 1000 gold," Eroan said. "We promise to pay you 200 gold, but if you spend less than 800, you may keep the rest."

Entreri nodded. He supposed it was acceptable. "When and where?"

"Noon," Eroan said. "Auction Block A."

Jarlaxle nodded. "That will give us plenty of time to prepare." He tipped his hat. "By two o'clock we expect to bring back Nlaea with us. If possible I would like Lady Shael and Laudriel to be in the common room when we arrive. Is this a reasonable request?"

"Certainly," Eroan said. "And it is easily arranged."

Shael presented them with the gold, which Jarlaxle once again accepted, and then she led them out. He noticed that Shael gave him a rather extra-friendly smile at the door and wondered if she might make a pass at him at some point. If she were going to, he would be quickly making clear that he did not do S&M.

On the way back to their flat, Jarlaxle asked, "Are there any supplies we need so that you may sufficiently disguise yourself? I assume you would like to be discrete as well."

"Just an oversized shirt," Entreri said. "Unless you offer me magic, I'll just use basic supplies to disguise myself."

Jarlaxle nodded. "I will be taking non-magical measures as well. While magic creates a more complete transformation on the surface, it is also more easily detected by anyone with enough perception and familiarity with magic."

When they passed through the nearby marketplace, Entreri acquired a shirt and Jarlaxle bought a Skulker hat and oiled poncho. The wooden, wide-brimmed hat would do much to alter his appearance. The Skulker poncho was added insurance.

They went back to their flat with their goods discretely stowed in gunny sacks. Once they were safely inside Jarlaxle asked, "Do you think it prudent to imbed ourselves in the crowd early and pretend to bid on various slaves with intent to buy? Should we stand together or apart when we are there? Let us plan."

Entreri took off his cloak, surcoat, and shirt, stealing the sheet off his bed and fashioning it around his waist and upper body. He secured it with several strings, then slipped the shirt on over it. He had succeeded in making himself appear much heavier. "Imbed and pretend, yes. I should stand alone when I bid on Nlaea, but don't get too far away in case something goes wrong."

Jarlaxle nodded. "Given that our only payment for this is in my hat, I think I'll do a little light sabotaging." He smiled. "Drow are notorious for being hyper-alert to any signs of ill health. If I claim that Nlaea shows signs of illness, perhaps some early signs of something fatal, like consumption, that should dissuade others from bidding too much on her." He took off his hat, laid it on his bed, and replaced it with the Skulker hat. Then he took off his rainbow cape and threw on the oiled poncho. Then he fished the bag of gold out of his discarded hat and gave it to Entreri.

"Sounds like a good idea." Entreri painstakingly fed the gold into his smaller pouch of holding. Carrying much gold in a normal pouch was too bulky and heavy. He'd picked up a hat during their trek to Waterdeep, but since he didn't need it underground, he hadn't worn it since his arrival. He donned it now, pulling it low to hide most of his features. Then he pulled on his cloak again.

Jarlaxle nodded approvingly. "An excellent disguise, my friend." He snapped his fingers and took off his eye patch. "I almost forgot. This thing is like second nature by now." The drow mercenary chuckled and stowed it in his discarded hat. After pulling out a few odds and ends from his hat and stuffing them in his pockets, he declared, "I am ready to go to the auction."

By the time they reached the slave market and integrated themselves in the crowd, it was three hours until the auction of Flygon's assets. Entreri and Jarlaxle wandered aimlessly for about half an hour, getting a feel for the crowd, and then went to work, bidding low amounts in different auctions and in the same auction against each other to establish their separateness. Anyone making a day of the slave auctions would assume they were strangers to each other.

Jarlaxle thought Entreri was establishing himself as a bit of a skinflint. None of the assassin's bids topped one hundred gold. On the other hand, Jarlaxle himself came dangerously close to buying someone. He was saved by a hardened-looking elf woman who didn't appreciate his presence. After she left with her new slave Jarlaxle was amused at how much trouble he'd caused.

While they were here, Jarlaxle figured he may as well pick up information. By subtly chatting people up and listening in on others' conversations he learned much. Flygon and Oppus had been major suppliers of human and half-elven slaves. Many customers were concerned at how they were going to get hold of quality slaves after the deaths of the two slavers. The other major players in the Iron Ring were non-human. One of them was a yuan-ti, which was still the lowest of the low to humans even in Skullport.

Jarlaxle also learned another fact: drow slave auctions were constantly plagued by the followers of Elistraee. A certain drow House from a faraway city had a portal in Skullport. This House was in an out-and-out war with the followers of Elistraee. Most people in Skullport tried to stay out of their business.

That information reminded Jarlaxle that he had best return to Urldan soon with raw materials for Entreri's sword. And, he privately admitted, he was curious to see how the boy fared.

At last, a distant clock tower chimed noon. Jarlaxle and Entreri drifted over to auction block A as a new caravan rolled in, pulled by two rothe. Jarlaxle had noticed that rothe were not uncommon as work animals in Skullport.

A tall man with a hard face and large, callused hands climbed the side stairs to the platform. He announced himself with a magically amplified voice. "I am a representative of Kellis Lammel, the partner of the late Flygon Lammel. Flygon Lammel's stock is to be liquidated today, at this time. Bidding starts at fifty gold a head. Stock consists of half-elves and humans. No hard labor slaves. All stock consists of house slaves."

The crowd shifted around the auction block as he spoke, some people drawn in and others disappointed. Jarlaxle and Entreri stayed put.

"The stock is young and healthy," Kellis' uncle continued. Jarlaxle noted he was not much of a salesperson, but he would keep his nephew from being cheated.

The man gestured. "First lot, kitchen slaves. Starting bid for the whole lot is two hundred gold. Any takers for the whole lot?"

As Jarlaxle expected, there were none.

The man nodded and then parceled out slaves individually. The highest price was five hundred gold, and the lowest was only one hundred, for a young man of fourteen.

"Second lot, slaves who know how to clean and keep house," Kellis' uncle announced. There were fourteen slaves in this category, ranging from children to men and women in their thirties. Jarlaxle had to look away and ignore the whole proceeding in order to get through it. Nlaea wasn't here.

Entreri was insufferably bored. He wondered if he could get away with buying Nlaea for only 200 gold so he could keep the other 800 for himself – not because he was greedy but rather because he found ennui particularly distasteful. He watched without pity as the slaves were sold off. He'd had to save himself as a child. They would have to save themselves as well.

"Third and final lot, slaves of a decorative or bedroom nature," the man announced. His assistant brought out eight slaves, only two of which were female. One of those was Nlaea. She had the same fiery red hair as her twin sister. Jarlaxle wanted to compare them side by side, but they seemed very much alike.

The six men were auctioned off first. Jarlaxle wondered if any of them would have appealed to the Tauvaul sisters, although he had no desire to assist the women in such a fashion.

Entreri was careful not to alter his body language as Nlaea was brought forward. Showing interest could be bad for his purse.

Jarlaxle chose his moment. He stood fairly near three other potential buyers. He muttered under his breath at a pitch designed to carry, "Don't know what he's playing at, offering goods like that. Half-elf's obviously diseased. Damn humans."

The man directly in front of him gave a start and blanched. He muttered to the man next to him, who was apparently an associate. They walked out of the auction. Several people followed them on their way out, overhearing the mutter of the two men as they left.

A trio on Jarlaxle's left shifted uneasily but stayed.

Bidding sputtered out at one hundred gold. Now was Entreri's time to act.

Jarlaxle turned away and walked to the edge of the auction block's crowd, pretending to take interest in what auction block B had going on. He needed to distance himself from Entreri's comings and goings.

Noticing Jarlaxle's retreat, Entreri touched his ear.

"Two hundred gold," Kellis' uncle said, obviously relieved. "Two hundred gold. Do I hear two-ten?" He looked around, but no one budged. "Two hundred to the merchant in the hat." He motioned for Entreri to come forward, jerking Nlea forward at the same time.

Jarlaxle pretended to lose interest and quietly filtered his way through the crowd toward the slave auction's exit into the variety market. He hovered at the first stall, examining various necklaces.

Entreri walked over to the platform, handing over the gold and taking Nlaea by the upper arm. He didn't hold her very tightly, but at least this way if she did try to make a break for it, he could stop her.

"Prize" in hand, he headed toward the exit.

Jarlaxle left the jewelry stall and followed five steps behind, careful to give most of the stalls a glance or two.

Nlaea was very quiet until they reached the end of the market and headed upwards, through the narrow, slimy alleyways between flophouses. Then she whispered to Entreri, "That drow is following us. The one with the Skulker hat."

Entreri gave her a curious glance, surprised that she had noticed and that she'd dared to tell him. "Do not be concerned. He's with me."

Nlaea's concern vanished into astonishment. "Who . . . Who is he?"

"My business partner," Entreri said. "His name is Jarlaxle." He realized that in all this time, Jarlaxle had never divulged his surname. It seemed odd.

Nlaea worked up her courage over the course of several minutes. Finally, she asked, "Does that mean he too was hired by Laudriel?"

Entreri was much amused at her deduction. "And what makes you think I am hired by Laudriel?"

"I hope you are, because you know who she is," Nlaea said. Her confidence seemed to grow in direct proportion to how much distance was between her and the slave auction. "Laudriel and I communicated through other slaves. An underground network of messengers. We can do that. Flygon Lammel and Darrian Oppus were in business together and friends. It was normal to send messengers between their houses. We sent messages, too. The slaves, I mean. Laudriel contacted someone we'd used before. She told me she was free and someone was coming to rescue me. She could do that now, she said."

Entreri raised an eyebrow. "You were bold to fish for the connection. I could have outbid your rescuer. But yes, I am he. Laudriel made a deal with her new guildmistress, who then hired Jarlaxle and me." Convinced she would not bolt now, Entreri released her arm.

Nlaea grinned at him. "I was bold, but you were holding me wrong. Most people wouldn't think that was suspicious, but I did. You've never owned a slave before."

Jarlaxle, delighted, burst out laughing behind them.

Entreri wasn't even aware there was a right way and wrong way to hold a slave. "You're quite right. I never have. I've taken plenty of prisoners, but no slaves."

Nlaea nodded. "I'm glad there is such a person as someone who's never owned a slave before." Then she glanced at Jarlaxle. "He sounds jolly for a drow. Is he really a drow, or is it a disguise? Lots of people come down here from Waterdeep in disguise. People from Waterdeep do business here all the time. I heard from the underground network that the Masked Lords don't think people from Waterdeep do business here, but they do."

Jarlaxle caught up to them with a few quick strides and walked on Nlaea's other side. He grinned at her. "You must be the chatty one. I've never met twins before, but I have heard that there is always a quiet one and a chatty one."

Nlaea giggled.

Entreri doubted it was that straightforward, but it was true that she was more talkative. "The drow is both jolly and chatty. You should get along well for the short time you will know each other."

Nlaea's expression grew somber. "That's right. I'll never see you again, probably. I guess that makes me sad because it's natural to like someone who's rescued you, even if they've been hired."

They reached the stone steps up to the Ventor.

At the top of the stairs, Jarlaxle said, "Whether you see us again or not, I suppose, depends on you. I'm sure at some point you will be allowed to wander outside of the Dragon's Head Tavern, at which point you can always seek us out if that is your wish."

She looked at him with curiosity. "Oh. Does that mean you live here, then? Most people don't, especially if they're sellswords."

"And yet, most drow do live here," Jarlaxle said, smiling. "So I am both common and unique."

"Then you really are a drow."

"I'm afraid so."

They headed towards the Dragon's Head Tavern, shepherding her along between them. The streets were fairly deserted. Most people were at the market during this time of day.

"That's all right," Nlaea said. "I guess I like you anyway. Especially if you are jolly."

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Usually. Even a crisis doesn't dampen my spirits for long."

"He's damn near unshakeable," Entreri said. He wondered if Laudriel would be staring out the window.

In due time they reached the tavern. Entreri didn't even have time to show his token. The door burst open and Laudriel stood on the step, breathless and flushed with excitement. "Let them in, Oga, Vada! She's my sister!"

The half-orc guards hastily shuffled out of the way.

Laudriel tackled her twin in a hug and dragged Nlaea inside. "Come in everybody!"

Jarlaxle and Entreri nudged past the half orc guards as well and entered the tavern, shutting the door behind them.

At the sight of the reunited twins, the crowd of guildswomen uttered a collective, "Awwww."

Entreri stayed at the door, trying to ward off the shower of estrogen.

Laudriel announced unnecessarily, "This is my twin, Nlaea!" She hugged on her sister again and rapidly began introducing her to various guild members.

Shael was there, and she welcomed the new twin with a smile and a forearm clasp. Then she sauntered over to Entreri and Jarlaxle, leaning against the wall by Entreri. "Any trouble?" She crossed her arms.

"None," Entreri said.

Shael snorted. "Because everything is a breeze for Artemis Entreri?"

Jarlaxle grinned. "That's one reason. Another is because Nlaea is a very clever girl."

"Oh?" Shael asked, clearly intrigued.

Jarlaxle nodded. "Indeed. She knew right away who Entreri was. Due to our strategy my identity was the only introduction necessary. Nlaea is quite observant. She knew from Entreri's bearing that he had never owned a slave before, and having been in secret communication with her sister, put two and two together." He suggested, "She might make an excellent spy, should your guild have such positions open."

Shael's eyebrows raised. "We'll test her out, then."

Entreri's gaze had returned to the celebrating twins. Actual family loyalty. What a concept.

Shael leaned against his shoulder faintly. "Think they're pretty, Master Entreri?"

Entreri glanced down at Shael. Mischievous blue eyes told him she was definitely flirting. "What are you suggesting?"

Shael just laughed.

Jarlaxle shook his head. "Laudriel and Nlaea are definitely attractive, but, speaking for myself, much too young." He watched as an older guild member led Nlaea towards a hallway.

Laudriel ran up to them. "Maika is going to cut off Nlaea's restraints, and then she's going to be settled in my room!" She beamed at the three of them excitedly. "I haven't seen her in ten years and now she's sharing my room!" She bowed quickly. "Thank you, Mistress Shael. Please thank Mistress Eroan for me, too."

Shael thumped her on the shoulder. "You're welcome. Just get her adjusted. We'll start training her tomorrow morning."

"Right!" Laudriel ran off to be with her sister.

"You do many good deeds here, Mistress Shael," Jarlaxle observed.

Shael snorted. "Maybe. I guess. If we didn't turn a profit doing it, it wouldn't get done. But it does make a difference to these women, so there's some extra satisfaction in the process." She smiled up at Entreri again.

Entreri was not interested in licking boots, however.

"Should we pay our respects to Mistress Eroan before we go?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Certainly." Shael led them upstairs. By this point, the concubines were getting used to seeing them.

When they entered the office, Tauvaul was at her desk, which was covered in scrolls and documents. "Well, good afternoon, gents."

Jarlaxle bowed low, sweeping off his hat. The effect was somewhat different in his current garb. "Good afternoon, Mistress Eroan. The mission was a success – as I am certain you have heard."

Tauvaul shook her head. "The guards reported nothing. I was waiting on Shael."

When Entreri considered they were six floors up, he realized she wouldn't have heard the commotion. "Nlaea has been returned to her sister."

"And you got at least 200 gold?" Eroan asked.

"We did." Entreri wasn't going to lie to her. Some level of trust had to be built between them, and for all he knew, he was being scanned by a wizard in the room next door.

Jarlaxle smiled. "Rest assured that Entreri and I make an effective negotiating team."

Tauvaul chuckled. "I bet that you do." She leaned back in her chair. "Well done, then. We'll no doubt be in contact with you again with further jobs."

Exactly what Entreri wanted to hear. "Excellent."

"Yes," Shael drawled, hovering close to his side.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to them. "Indeed. We shall await word from you. Until then, ladies." He walked towards the door.

Shael saw them back downstairs, chatting Entreri up the whole way.

The assassin was grateful to escape into the street. "So my options are orc teats or boot licking?" He snorted. "I think I'll choose celibacy."

Jarlaxle laughed.

* * *

On what they had earned so far from the Dragon's Head Guild, Jarlaxle and Entreri had enough coin to live off of for at least three months without working at all. Jarlaxle mentioned this fact in passing and was met with a glare. However, the idea of taking a few days off to deal with their own business and recuperate was well-received.

Two days after this conversation, Jarlaxle came back from his afternoon shopping with a brilliant grin and an extra bounce in his step. Without waiting for Entreri to ask, he announced, "I have at last managed to make a trade with the dwarven miners of the Undermountain." Jarlaxle rubbed his hands together. "Thanks to steadily building connections through The Pick and Lantern, we now have enough mithral to supply Urldan with material for your sword."

This immediately had Entreri's attention. "Excellent." He couldn't quite figure out why Jarlaxle had decided to get him a new sword, though.

"Soon, your equipment will match the quality of mine," Jarlaxle said. He plopped down in a chair at the table across from Entreri. "Think of the jobs we will be able to take then! We will be able to command twice as much coin. If not more."

"So far, only one of our jobs has even required my sword," Entreri said.

"We cannot run before we walk," Jarlaxle said. He gestured vaguely. "Now, let's talk hilts. The design of a sword's hilt is very important."

Entreri found Jarlaxle's logic to be lacking, given the first job they got they landed due to his already-established reputation, but he focused on the implied question. "Nothing with snakes or dragons. Too cliché." He considered it. "I would prefer to have a D-guard." Hand protection was important, after all. "And a leather-wrapped grip."

Jarlaxle pulled out a scroll, bottle of ink, and a quill. He jotted Entreri's description down in flowing, easily legible cursive. "Gold? Silver? Any gemstones?"

"Silver." Entreri had always preferred silver. "I suppose a sapphire or ruby for decoration, but keep it minimal."

Jarlaxle nodded and wrote it down. "Silver, small accent sapphire or ruby." He glanced up from the scroll. "Any specific animal suggestions for a likeness, or would you prefer no animal references at all?"

"None," Entreri said.

Jarlaxle wrote that down and underlined it. "No animals." The drow mercenary read over his notes. "Is there anything else that comes to mind?"

"Type," Entreri said. "I would prefer to stick with a saber. Also, we need to discuss what magic the blade will have."

Jarlaxle grinned. "I was hoping you would allow the blade to be enhanced." He jotted down the word 'saber.' "What kind of enchantments do you prefer? Most drow weapon smiths know at least twelve different enhancements."

"So much to choose from." Entreri wasn't being sarcastic for once. "I would prefer a sword with an enchantment to increase the damage. Perhaps also poison. Suggestions based on what he is likely to know?"

Jarlaxle started a heading for magic enhancements and started the list with damage magnifier and poison. Then he looked up at Entreri. "The two you've mentioned so far are common enough. Also, it's quite common to enchant one's weapon to come to one's hand if one is disarmed and give the weapon some kind of elemental damage. Fire, ice, lightning, that sort of thing. I suppose poison technically counts as an element, but one weapon can hold multiple elemental attacks. In addition to crafting a fine cutting edge, drow weapon smiths can enchant the blade to be sharper still and not to dull when cutting through things."

"Sounds excellent." Entreri was up for all of that. He considered what element other than poison might interest him, but nothing came to mind. "Poison is fine as the element."

Jarlaxle nodded. He wrote down 'return to hand', 'cutting edge', and 'dull proof.' "Also, if you wish, you can key the sword to your blood, making the sword inert for anyone who is not related to you. This is popular with drow because it serves as a kind of revenge. One may die and one's possessions taken as the spoils of war, but their magical enhancements don't work for one's enemies."

Entreri had to grin at that. "That thought does please me."

Jarlaxle grinned in return and made of a note of it. "I thought it might." Secretly, the drow mercenary wished this to be an overture to a lasting friendship. Entreri interested him as a person, not merely as a warrior.

"Well, I think that covers everything Urldan will need to know." Jarlaxle stood, spoke a command word, and dried the ink instantly. He tucked everything back in his hat. "Shall we visit The Forge and claim our payment at last?"

"Yes, let's." Entreri stood as well, retrieving his cloak. Rarely did he find that he looked forward to things, but he had to admit that the idea of getting such a specialized, personalized sword did appeal to him.

They traveled to northern Ventor. Though they'd only been there once before, both Jarlaxle and Entreri had a good memory for geography. It was easy to find The Ak'euch again. Jarlaxle noticed this neighborhood seemed quiet, almost strangely quiet. He opened the door to the shop and entered first. Right inside the doorway, they were greeted by the object of their mission, looking so different that Jarlaxle had to stop and marvel for a moment.

Urldan's son was now dressed in a clean white tunic with full sleeves and a long black vest belted at the waist, with black leggings and stylishly saggy black boots. His hair was combed and sported the complex braids of the drow class system.

The young half-drow bowed. "Welcome to The Ak'euch, known in Common as The Forge. I am Alak, son of Urldan. My father is with a client. I am an apprentice. Would you be interested in buying a dagger or a sword? They are plain but well-balanced." Then he straightened and grinned. "That is what I say to everyone when they enter." He glanced at the back door of the room. "Except that my father really is with a client."

Jarlaxle stood aside so that Entreri could enter. "I see. Would you be so good as to tell your father that we are here?"

Alak bowed. "Yes, Master Jarlaxle." He wove his way around the smithing equipment and knocked on the back door. Then he disappeared inside.

Jarlaxle glanced at his partner. "Well? A remarkable transformation, don't you think?"

"Indeed." Entreri tried to ignore the needling pain in his sternum. "He seemed plucky, though, so it's no great surprise."

Jarlaxle caught a hint of Entreri's pain and felt a sympathetic throb. He murmured, "If only every one of us was so lucky. For it is luck, isn't it?"

"Which part?" Entreri asked. It wasn't luck that had saved the child but his father's love. But what had granted Alak a loving father? Luck? Fate? Destiny?

Jarlaxle looked away. "One's parents. One's family. I refuse to believe that some are fated to suffer, so it must be luck. Both good and bad."

Entreri glanced at Jarlaxle, surprised. Had he been with a bad family? If so, it might explain why he claimed no surname. If so, then they might have something in common other than being mercenaries. "Yes, luck I suppose. The random drawing of a card, good or bad. I don't believe in the theory that our souls choose our families prior to birth. That is utter nonsense."

Jarlaxle nodded and looked at the assassin, relieved that Entreri hadn't rebuffed him. Perhaps a connection with the assassin would be possible. "For what soul would choose the suffering of parents that did not care, or worse? I agree that the notion is foolish."

"Indeed." Entreri was somewhat curious about Jarlaxle now. He doubted that the drow would ever share much about himself personally, however. He seemed too cautious. And rightfully so.

The back door opened, and Alak emerged, followed by Urldan. The weapon smith smiled at the sight of them. "Welcome to my shop once again. Please, come back to my office."

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to Urldan. "Thank you. You should know that we have come to deliver raw materials for the sword that is to be made."

Urldan nodded. "I guessed as much. There are places to sit and refreshment should you choose it."

Entreri followed Jarlaxle into the office, where there was a small desk and a table with four chairs. They sat at the table.

Urldan stayed at the door an extra moment. "Dal'chev, will you mind the front of the shop for me?"

Alak nodded. "Yes, Vel'chev."

Urldan squeezed his son's shoulder. "Good." He shut the door and crossed over to the table. "Would either of you like a drink? I have water and wine."

"A small glass of wine, perhaps," Jarlaxle said. Accepting the gesture meant showing trust that he would not be poisoned by Urldan's drink.

"I have ssinjin'anon," Urldan offered.

Jarlaxle smiled. "Ah. Lovely."

Urldan nodded and retrieved a small glass of a nearly clear wine. A sweet, flowery aroma wafted from the glass.

"I'll try the wine as well." Entreri had never had drow wine, so it seemed worth trying at least once.

Urldan and Jarlaxle both lit up.

The weapon smith retrieved a small, champagne-like glass for the assassin as well, filled a third of the way with the nearly clear, fragrant wine. "Here. This is ssinjin'anon, or sweet flower wine. In parts of the Upperdark tiny white flowers grow. We harvest the nectar of these flowers in my home city and turn the nectar into wine. The faerie elves are not the only elves to craft beautiful wines."

"Thank you." Entreri took the glass and had a sip. It was a pleasant flavor – not too sweet or overpowering. He nodded to Urldan, indicating it was good.

Jarlaxle grinned and sipped his as well. "Excellent, Urldan."

The weapon smith poured himself a small glass and finally settled at the table. "The raw materials you mentioned. Let us discuss the sword first."

Jarlaxle nodded and pulled the scroll out of his hat. "I have compiled a description of what my partner wishes."

Urldan unrolled the scroll and looked it over in amusement. "You are reaping the reward to the fullest extent, aren't you?"

"As you expect from me," Jarlaxle said, grinning.

"This sword would cost 2,000 gold to make, never mind its resulting market value," Urldan said.

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Indeed. Since I am providing the materials myself from start to finish, I estimate that the fee would be between 1,200 and 1,500 gold."

Urldan nodded. "It would indeed. Of which you only pay ten percent."

Jarlaxle gestured expansively. "It is a good deal for both of us."

"It is," Urldan agreed. "It is good to have my son again. I am a happy father."

"I admit it would have been cheaper to allow you to collect the materials, but then I would be waiting years," Jarlaxle said.

"No doubt," Urldan said. "Dwarves are notoriously reluctant to part with their mithril."

Entreri filed that information away for future consideration. Apparently Jarlaxle's talents were considerable.

Jarlaxle produced slim, silvery bars of mithril from his hat. "Believe it or not they were more willing to part with the refined mithril. Apparently if one analyzes the raw ore one can tell where the deposit is. By selling me the refined product they run no risk of their vein being discovered by others."

Urldan looked at the mithril with amazement. "May I?"

Jarlaxle nodded. "Please."

Urldan picked one up carefully, hefting it, examining the quality and the maker's mark. "Incredible."

Jarlaxle leaned back in his chair, looking pleased.

Entreri sipped his wine, content to let the drow talk. At least Urldan didn't seem condescending towards humans like some of the other drow Entreri had met during the last few months.

Urldan set down the bar of mithril carefully and spoke to Entreri. "This sword may very well make my career. If word gets out that I have made something of this quality, commissions will likely increase for the more expensive weapons. You and your partner are still new to Skullport. Is there not a way I can trade information for advertising? I know much about the community."

Jarlaxle sipped his wine with a smile. "An interesting notion. What do you say?"

Entreri might not be silver-tongued, but he did understand networking. At had been one of the few useful skills he'd learned from Theebles. "Sounds reasonable."

Urldan grinned. "Excellent. Others will no doubt wonder where the sword has come from. In exchange for an ongoing connection to the community, would you be willing to name me and my shop?"

Entreri glanced at Jarlaxle, who was just smiling. Then he looked back to Urldan. "Certainly."

"Your sword will take a tenday to forge, and another tenday to enchant," Urldan said. "When you come to pick up the sword we shall discuss this further." He looked to Jarlaxle. "I must admit there is another reason for inviting you in and serving you my best wine."

"Oh?" Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow.

"Your retrieval of my son caught the attention of several of my associates," Urldan said. "Many slaves sold by the House of Tanor'Thal are male, and many worship the Masked Lord. If they are not spirited away by the nearby enclave of Elistraee's followers, they are bought by illithids, humans, and other drow. So far my associates lack the strength of numbers to pull off raids such as those led by the followers of Elistraee."

"You want us to rescue them as well," Entreri reasoned. How had he ended up in the rescue business?

"I have only volunteered to approach you on their behalf," Urldan said.

"What if we say yes?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Then you would set up a meeting with a more direct representative through me," Urldan said. "I am one of the Masked Lord's many common people, quietly living a life integrated in one of Skullport's communities."

"In other words, you are at the bottom of the hierarchy of power," Jarlaxle said.

Urldan nodded. "You would need to speak to someone with more authority."

Entreri was beginning to feel his life really had taken a bizarre turn.

"But you have the ability to act as a go-between," Jarlaxle said.

"Yes."

Jarlaxle glanced at Entreri. "Do we have time to think about this?"

"You have as much time as you need," Urldan said. "Things can't get worse."

"We'll talk it over," Entreri said to both of them at once.

Jarlaxle nodded. "Thank you for this most excellent wine. I shall leave the raw materials with you now." He emptied his hat, bringing forth more bars of mithril, two bags of silver, a small bag of rubies and sapphires each, and some fine leather. Then he stood. "Until we make up our minds."

Urldan rose and bowed. "Take your time. My masters are in no hurry."

"I doubt it shall take us too long to make up our minds," Jarlaxle said lightly. "A few days should be time enough."

Entreri nodded to the drow, then headed out of the shop. Once they were far enough away, he gave Jarlaxle a skeptical look. "How did we land in the business of saving slaves?"

"It's lucrative," Jarlaxle said. He gestured, smiling. "People are willing to part with vast sums of gold in exchange for the return of a person important to them." Then he gave Entreri a sly look. "You hesitate because you feel it is dangerous to dabble in matters of morality." He laughed. "Rest assured, morality has nothing to do with it for me. We fill a niche: reverse slavery. For some reason, no one has thought to make a business out of rescuing slaves, even though capturing those to be slaves is a million gold industry."

Admittedly, Entreri was somewhat reassured by this proclamation. In his experience, the louder one claimed to be virtuous, the more corrupt one really was.

Jarlaxle held up one finger. "There is nothing particularly virtuous about our clients. Mistress Eroan and Mistress Shael are themselves slavers, in addition to being twisted in general. Urldan's attitude towards his son is refreshing, but we have no way of knowing what he's done in the past or will do in the future as it regards the enemies of the Masked Lord. Certainly Vhaeraun is judged to be an evil god in the eyes of most of the world." Jarlaxle held his palms up, weighing invisible things. "It is almost impossible not to find some good in most people, but it is equally impossible not to find some evil." He lowered his hands. "Also, being sellswords, I don't think it's any of our business."

Entreri wished someone would say something similar to Drizzt, who seemed hell-bent on morally judging the entire world. "There is truth in your argument." It would be lucrative. He wasn't sure how interesting it would be for him, though. He was a warrior first and foremost. "If it's too boring, however, I don't care how much it pays."

Jarlaxle nodded. "I agree. One must have excitement to keep work fresh. This is actually an argument for accepting the assignment, in my opinion. You see, it is very likely that we shall have to fight the followers of Elistraee. Judging from what I've heard, every time there is an auction run by House Tanor'Thal, it is raided by Elistraee's followers in one way or another. Sometimes they pay for the slaves and other times they simply slay all the representatives of Tanor'Thal running the auction. Some say they will even go so far as to infiltrate House Tanor'Thal's base and steal slaves away before the auction." Jarlaxle pointed up. High above the richest part of Skullport hung a large stalactite lit up with purple faerie fire. "I doubt, personally, that anyone unauthorized can get in there."

"Is that their base, then?" Entreri asked.

"In Skullport, yes," Jarlaxle said. "Apparently the compound above us contains a portal leading back to Karsoluthiyl, the city where the majority of House Tanor'Thal lives. A small portion of their House – lower ranking females and the like – run the compound over our heads."

Entreri nodded. "Well, we won't lose anything to meet with Urldan's masters."

"True," Jarlaxle said. "As long as we make it clear that we are in no way making up our minds other than to hear them out, they will let us walk away if we decide not to take the job." He tapped his lower lip. "I hear that Karsoluthiyl is located near Baldur's Gate, underneath the mouth of the River Chionthar. One wonders why they choose to export everything north to Skullport."

Entreri shrugged.

Jarlaxle grinned. "I'll stretch out our response time for the full three days and then get back to Urldan. I would hate to seem overeager."

"Yes." Entreri knew the wisdom of that.

And so it was that more reverse-slavery operations fell right into their laps.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Three days later they sent word to Urldan agreeing to the meeting. After five days of waiting, during which they assassinated an unimportant member of The Iron Ring just for something to do, Urldan gave them instructions. They were to go to the northern end of the upper Port at three o'clock, to a tavern called The Trusty Cloak, and order the stew. But they were not to eat it. Instead, they were to wait.

It was much like many other arrangements Entreri had made in his life. He settled with Jarlaxle at a corner table and made do with hard rolls while they waited.

After ten minutes of eating bread, a cloaked figure across from them in the tavern finally rose, closed the book he'd been writing in, and cleaned up his writing supplies. He approached with casual grace and sat down at their table. From this short distance they could see he was a young male drow wearing a black mask. His hair was shoulder length, pulled back into a ponytail under his hood. "I am Amryyr Yauntyrr," he said in a pleasantly melodic voice. "You are dealing with the Dark Dagger, you understand." He looked from Jarlaxle to Entreri inquiringly.

Jarlaxle knew that this tavern had to belong to the Vhaeraunites, or they never would have been so open with their identity. The drow mercenary gave a slight smile and spread his hands. "Ah, the Dark Dagger." He inclined his head. "May we eat now?"

Amryyr gestured. "By all means."

Jarlaxle was relieved to find his stew was still mostly hot.

Entreri ate as well. He wasn't amused to have had to wait so long. Given Amryyr was drow, he was going to let Jarlaxle handle most of the talking again. He didn't bother to introduce himself because he assumed his name had already been passed on regardless of whether Amryyr recognized it.

"I am a courier," Amryyr continued. "You may never meet my masters."

"That may be fine, especially considering we haven't agreed to anything yet," Jarlaxle said.

"Yes," Amryyr said. He glanced at Entreri. "You understand that you are hired help and are not being offered membership to the Dark Dagger."

"Wouldn't want it," Jarlaxle said glibly.

Amryrr finally got to the point. "In the next three days, several high-ranking Vhaeraunites will be sold at a slave auction. The auctioneer will be a drow female. She is aware of members of the Dark Dagger. We want those males to join the Dark Dagger. They cannot do so if they are dead or enslaved by someone else. The bitches of the Promenade also want these males to convert them."

Entreri didn't care at all about drow politics, but he did sense a great deal of gold would likely be offered for this job. "If they're high ranking, will others be trying to either rescue them or kill them?"

Amryyr nodded. "You will have to defend them while transporting them to the safe house. They will be weak from their enslavement. The followers of Elistraee consider themselves saviors. Others will be trying to kill them."

Entreri realized that "the bitches of the Promenade" were the followers of Elistraee and nodded. He knew very little about drow gods, especially those other than Lolth. What little he had learned came from Jarlaxle.

"Payment," Jarlaxle said.

"Five hundred for the attempt," Amryyr said. He leaned forward. "Five hundred more for every male you succeed in saving."

"How many?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Seven."

Jarlaxle did the math. He glanced at Entreri.

That was quite a fine deal, plus it sounded like there might even be some challenge to it. Entreri nodded at Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle grinned at Amryyr. "You have a deal."

Amryyr nodded and leaned back, smiling. "Good." He pulled out a map. "This is the way to the safe house. It will be a deserted flophouse. A tunnel underneath leads to the safe room." He handed the map over.

"When will the first auction be?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Tomorrow," Amryyr said. "Two. The next day, four. The last day, one. They are split up to make them the most difficult to rescue."

Entreri smirked. More of a challenge for him. Just as well. He'd have to put his talents of disguise to good use.

"How will we know them from the other slaves?" Jarlaxle asked. "There will be others, won't there?"

Amryyr's mouth twitched in something like anger or revulsion. "Their heads will be shaved."

Jarlaxle knew that was a touchy subject. He glanced at Entreri and explained, "Shaving the heads of enemies is a drow form of humiliation often used on religious enemies. The males we have just been hired to save will likely show signs of being beaten as well, isn't that right?" He glanced to their contact.

Amryyr nodded curtly.

Entreri really had to wonder, then, why Jarlaxle had a shaved head. As best he could tell, hair was a big deal to drow. "Any other details about them that would help? Or that we should be aware of?"

Amryyr hesitated a moment before answering. "The most effective disguise would be for Jarlaxle to pretend to be enslaved to you already. The female performing the auction prefers to sell her prisoners to humans. Everyone knows humans hate drow and aren't afraid to show their hostility."

Jarlaxle smiled and leaned back in his chair. "A clever idea. I have no compunctions following this sage advice."

"I suppose showing off his own shaved head will only had to the effect, then," Entreri said.

Amryyr nodded. "Everyone knows Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe shaves his head, but no one thinks you are in Skullport. Word has not yet spread. Not enough people know who you are."

Jarlaxle grinned and tipped his hat to the Vhaeraunite. "And why not use that to our advantage? Certainly."

"Especially if he puts on plain, drab clothing." Entreri wondered if this might be somewhat amusing given Jarlaxle's dedication to bright, expensive clothes.

"Rags," Jarlaxle agreed. He wagged his index finger. "After all, it should seem as though you regularly humiliate me. A few small scratches here and there for artistic affect would be wise as well."

Amryyr stood, leaving behind a bag of gold. "Well, I shall leave you to your planning." He smirked and walked off, going back to what seemed to be his regular table.

"Yes, let's play up the effect," Entreri said. "Maybe you should even have a collar around your neck."

Jarlaxle grinned. "I should." He laughed. "You could even have a chain to tug me around by. After all, Nlaea said you weren't convincing enough last time. This time we need to throw you into the deep end."

Entreri snorted. "Fine, fine. A chain it is."

"We'll have to practice tonight," Jarlaxle said. "And scratch me, so the scratches stand out." He finished his stew and stood.

"Don't bother paying, it's on the house," Amryyr called.

Jarlaxle exited onto the street, Entreri only a step behind him. "Well, whichever way it goes, it's not bad," the drow commented. "A free meal and five hundred gold is decent."

"Agreed."

On the way home, they discretely picked up some used slaver supplies: a collar with a ring on it, a chain to attach, some wearable rags that could hide Jarlaxle's weapons. Once back at their flat they examined the map they'd been given and figured out where to go: a place in Ventor five blocks south of the Dragon's Head Tavern. They discussed different routes and made a few plans, then Jarlaxle changed into his slave outfit. He was able to hide a surprising amount of weapons and artillery underneath the rags. They created a lot of helpful extra volume on his slender frame. "Will you help me with the collar? I can't seem to get it on by myself."

Entreri thought this was perhaps one of the more twisted requests he'd ever gotten. "How very authentic of us." He took the collar, slipping it around Jarlaxle's slender neck and fastening it in the back.

Jarlaxle felt it. "Snug, but not too tight. Thank you, Artemis." He examined himself in the mirror. "How bleak I look." He turned this way and that. Then he focused. "All right. I would like to practice walking with the chain, if you don't mind. I need to look as if I know how to do that."

Entreri had to revise his assessment. _That_ was the most twisted request he'd ever gotten. "I doubt it takes much practice." He got the chain, though, and linked it to the collar. He held Jarlaxle on a short leash, walking around the room. "I can tug on it for effect," he said, smirking.

Jarlaxle grinned. "You should. This is harder than it looks, by the way. My balance is completely changed by the extra weight hanging from my neck."

"You're being quite a sport." Entreri tugged without warning, knowing he'd have to do that for their performance. Jarlaxle might as well get used to it.

Jarlaxle tumbled face first, his feet slipping out from under him. The chain brought him up short in an awkward kneeling position tipped too far forward. His hands didn't quite reach the floor, so he had to scramble back up without them. He laughed at his own efforts and rose a few moments later. "That is like a very strange party game. Do it again. I want to get the hang of this." He gestured. "Circle around the room again. Wait until I'm not expecting it."

"You're cracked." Entreri did as asked, though. He made two laps, then jerked suddenly.

Jarlaxle reacted in a flash, managing to get one leg under himself so he only went down on one knee. He stood up immediately. A triumphant grin flashed across his face. "I think I've got it. I won't say that doesn't startle me, however. I suspect getting used to that feeling would take years." He flapped a hand. "And of course I'm not interested in truly immersing myself in the experience. Looking like an expert is what counts."

"Don't look too agile about it," Entreri said, stopping. "You're supposed to be a weakling, after all." He paused. "You'll need to be carrying something for me or the like. I wouldn't just bring you as a pet."

Jarlaxle tapped his lower lip. "That's a good point. What shall I carry? Oh, we can pretend to have been shopping. How about that? I've seen people with baskets on their backs. We can get one of those and make my debut at the market by the slave auctions. Then I can establish that I am suitably downtrodden and helpless."

Entreri snorted. "And you can carry some useful things in that basket. All right. This should work. Now I just need a disguise."

"A slaver can look like anybody," Jarlaxle said. "That should be easy." He gestured at the chain. "If you don't mind? I believe it's easier for you to remove the chain than it is for me."

"What? You don't want to wear it all night?" Entreri smirked, but he did remove it, along with the collar itself.

Jarlaxle chuckled and rubbed his neck. "As authentically miserable as that would make me, no. I have to be rested up and ready to fight tomorrow. I'll simply act demoralized."

Entreri snickered. "Right." A yawn followed, and he stretched, popping his back.

Jarlaxle got out of his slave disguise, disarmed, and got ready for bed. "We've a busy day in the morning. I'm quite looking forward to it."

"Better than boredom." Entreri followed suit. He'd never imagined he'd end up sharing a flat with someone. He'd occupied a room or space alone for fifteen years now. It was odd, but since Jarlaxle tended to come and go a lot, it hadn't been too annoying. Yet.

It wasn't until Entreri climbed in bed that he realized that, in a way, Jarlaxle had extended him some trust.

* * *

The following day, Entreri spent an hour working on his disguise. He had to look different each day, after all. He used rice powder to change his skin color, and he padded himself for added weight, although not as much as he had before. He also dressed in completely different clothing, donning bright silks so he'd look the part of a wealthy merchant. Shiny dress boots with thick soles and three-inch heals boosted his height without changing his balance too much.

Jarlaxle admired Entreri's disguise. Truly, the assassin was a master at this game. In the morning after breakfast he punched himself in the eye and scratched up the tops of his arms to give himself that abused look. Then he changed into his slave outfit and equipped himself, making sure to take plenty of wands and a few healing potions. He didn't take off his bracers, but he did rub them with dirt to make them look less splendid. He needed his bracers in order to fight effectively.

Finally, as they prepared to leave for the market, he consciously brought to mind a lot of depressing memories in order to bring down his energy level.

Entreri admired Jarlaxle's disguise as well, but now came the strange part: leading Jarlaxle to the marketplace like a dog. He put on the collar and attached the chain. "Ready for our performance?"

Jarlaxle grinned. "Yes." Then he fought the smile from his face. "It is going to be difficult not to laugh. I'm having trouble thinking of something truly distressing enough."

Entreri shook his head. "Only you would find such amusement in this situation." He headed out of their apartment, sticking to the shadows so they wouldn't be spotted.

Jarlaxle was stuck having to go all the way back to his days as a drowling in Melee Megrathe to capture the right mood. By the time they reached the market at the Port he was positively morose.

Entreri wondered what in the Nine Hells Jarlaxle had dredged up that made him act so differently, but he didn't dare ask. Instead he entered the marketplace and wandered stall to stall, making sure to give Jarlaxle a harsh tug whenever female drow looked their way. Granted, there were only three in the crowd, but Entreri put on a good show for them, anyway.

He was convincing enough that the few male drow in the crowd glared at him with undisguised hate.

Jarlaxle had perfected his vision of Entreri as one of his academy teachers by the second time the assassin jerked him around. That gave his motions the appropriate flavor of despair. His teachers at Melee Magthere were all dead now. They'd been bitter, older males resigned to their supposedly prestigious positions, apathetic and cruel. Deaths at Melee Magthere were considered part of the curriculum for the surviving students, so no one stopped them, even at the most outrageous injustices. He did his best to hold onto the feeling he'd had back then, that he might never leave the walls of the school, that he would be one more dead body carelessly disposed of without anyone caring or noticing. The sensation was unpleasant, but it bore Jarlaxle through the tedious hours at the market until the auction began.

Entreri headed to the correct auction block, picking a spot closer to the front. By this point, he suspected Jarlaxle's neck and shoulders were hurting from the chain and the jerking around, and he was surprised he was willing to go this far for the job. Still, with the female drow glancing over their crowd, it had to look especially convincing.

Jarlaxle hung his head and avoided the gaze of the drow females. The female running the auction was dressed in the typical dark purple and black robes of a priestess of Lolth, and a whip hung openly at her side. A female who looked like her younger sister was helping manage the slaves. All the slaves were male drow, and all of them were naked except for long loincloths. Two of them, as their contact with the Dark Dagger stated, had shaved heads. The other six slaves looked like foot soldiers and house servants.

The difference in the air was palpable. Entreri felt like he'd stepped into a pit of vipers, although he wasn't sure what was causing the effect. The area seemed dark and oppressive, however. He gave Jarlaxle a small tug, just enough to make him have to correct his balance, and managed to make the auctioneer sneer with satisfaction. It turned his stomach faintly.

The drow female in charge gestured to her sister, who brought forth the first slave. Jarlaxle judged him to be around one hundred years old, a house servant who probably knew the more delicate arts. "House Tanor'Thal's auction will begin with this male entertainer," the drow female announced. "He is eighty-eight years of age, plays the harp, sings, and knows massage. Bids start at two hundred gold."

The male in question looked horrified and nauseous.

Jarlaxle looked away.

The bidding among the human and drow females reached six hundred gold in a matter of thirty seconds. The final bid, one thousand and twenty gold, went to a female creature with a centaur-like appearance, except that her hind half was that of a lioness. Jarlaxle vaguely remembered such monsters were called lamia. He had never seen one before this auction. The lamia was accompanied by a male drow slave already. The slave paid the gold and collected the new acquisition for her.

Entreri felt as nauseated as the drow slave looked. He didn't even want to know how a lamia could have sex with an elf, and monster-humanoid pairings revolted him. It was too close to bestiality, even if lamia were sentient.

The drow female smirked and motioned for the next slave to be brought up. "This slave is no stranger to combat. He is one hundred eighty-five years of age, trained as a soldier, and wields a longsword. This slave would be perfect for gladiatorial games."

A tall, muscular man from somewhere in the east bought the slave for four hundred gold.

Finally, the drow female had the first of the Vhaeraunite prisoners brought up to the front. "This is a common heathen," she said silkily. The prisoner looked infuriated. She stroked his cheek. "He will no doubt be trouble to break, but he is very pretty."

Entreri felt his jaw clench, but he pushed all thoughts away. It was time to work. The bidding started at one hundred gold, and Entreri didn't signal until it had reached two hundred fifty.

The lamia touched her ear.

"Three fifty," the drow female drawled, looking smugly bored.

Entreri let one other bid before him, then upped the stakes again.

The drow female woke up for the first time and smiled in malicious glee. "Five hundred to the human merchant."

The lamia shook her head, backing down. The others at the auction followed, apparently viewing the Vhaeraunite as not worth the price.

Entreri sent Jarlaxle up with the gold and hoped the Vhaeraunite wouldn't try to bolt on them.

Jarlaxle managed to discretely hand sign the Vhaeraunite under the drow priestess' noses. He came along back to Entreri willingly.

Two other males went before the second worshipper of Vhaeraun. This male was older, perhaps five hundred. He didn't look as defiant as the other Vhaeraunite, nor was he as desirable. Bidding only went up to two hundred before Entreri stepped in, and the assassin put in the winning bid at two hundred and twenty. Once more, Jarlaxle went up to retrieve the male. The older male was apparently resigned to his fate, or more in control of himself, because he didn't put up a struggle, nor did he attempt to communicate.

They stayed until the end of the auction to avoid suspicion and then set off at a slow pace. The older Vhaeraunite was apparently weak from his enslavement.

Entreri could smell the defeat on the older male, and he felt that in his place, he would have committed suicide rather than live a life of servitude. Of course, he would also do his best to escape first.

Setting aside those thoughts, Entreri watched their surroundings carefully as they headed out of the market, searching for signs of attack.

Jarlaxle too was secretly poised for an attack underneath his pretense of despair. Two blocks from the marketplace on a particularly narrow street it happened. Two female drow appeared at the far end of the street, and two female drow appeared behind them, attempting to block them in. All of them wielded longswords. "Give up the drow and nothing happens to you," the taller female at the far end of the street called. Her voice was almost as deep as a man's.

Entreri drew his sword and the new dagger he'd purchased to replace the lost vampiric dagger. "No deal."

The drow females charged. Jarlaxle whirled and drove daggers into the females behind them before they could even get their blades lined up properly to take Entreri out.

"What are you doing?" the shorter female at the other end of the street shrieked.

"They're brainwashed!" her leader snapped. The female's blade locked with Entreri's.

Entreri smirked at her. "They're free," he spat in return, pushing her blade aside. When she swung at him again, he slipped his dagger past her defenses and drove it into her spleen.

She gasped and collapsed, blood gushing out of the wound. Jarlaxle knew she would bleed out inside of a minute.

"Illiam!" the shorter female cried out. She shouted a word that burned through the air with energy.

Her leader's wound sealed up in an instant, and she leapt back. "Nedanna, retreat!"

Nedanna finally got her act together and covered her leader's escape by throwing daggers. Jarlaxle leapt in front and deflected them with his bracers.

Entreri turned toward the rescued slaves, sizing up their reactions.

The older male was in shock. He looked like he'd been splashed with icy water. The younger male was looting the corpses of the two drow females Jarlaxle had killed. He armed himself with a sword and a dagger, and took her cloak while he was at it. When he turned he saw Entreri assessing him. "If they come back I am ready," he said in accented Common.

The older male finally unstuck and took the other female's cloak and a dagger. "I have not been allowed to pray, so I have no spells to lend. But I can defend myself."

Entreri nodded. "Good. Let's get you where you need to go, then."

"Yes," the younger male agreed.

The rest of the journey was tense and frantically stealthy, but they were not attacked again. They reached the flophouse, walking inside to the largest room. Jarlaxle found the hidden door in the floor and opened it, uncovering a hole that dropped down some ten feet. The Vhaeraunites simply used their levitation to glide down gently. Jarlaxle followed for a moment to make sure everything was in order and then returned to Entreri's side. "We've done it," he murmured. "But now that we have started it will surely get harder." He fitted the door back into the floor.

Entreri frowned. "I'm sure that's true. Still, we've done well thus far."

Jarlaxle grinned. "Walk me home?"

With a snort of amusement, Entreri undid the chain on the collar and nodded. "All right, milady."

Jarlaxle laughed.

* * *

The next afternoon Jarlaxle and Entreri expected trouble, and they had it. Before the slave auction even got properly started, daggers rained down on the platform, forcing the two priestesses of Lolth to take cover, and a commanding female voice announced, "We will not allow you to sell these helpless males into slavery. In the name of the Dark Maiden, we will strike you down and take these males to safety!"

Four female drow swung down on ropes from a tall ramshackle building. They drew longswords and charged the two off-balance priestesses. The Lolthian priestesses drew their whips and fended off the initial attacks, yelling for support.

The crowd rushed away around Jarlaxle and Entreri, intent on not getting caught between the warring drow factions.

"Well, shit," Entreri said flatly.

Jarlaxle grimaced. "Indeed. I've half a mind to find somewhere to hide and watch the fight so we can eliminate the victor."

In the confusion, one of the Vhaeraunites managed to free himself of the shackles and yanked his fellow would-be slaves aside, unlocking their bonds. The followers of Elistraee closed ranks around them, joined by two more so-called freedom fighters swinging down from the building.

"We can't let the females get them, though," Entreri said. First of all, it was his job to rescue them, and he wanted to get paid. Second of all, the Vhaeraunties didn't actually want to be hauled off by Elistraee's females. It was just another type of slavery, really. And while that wasn't Entreri's problem, it was still irritating to behold.

Jarlaxle nodded. "Shall we cast off our disguises and join the fight?"

Even as he spoke, one of the Lolthian priestesses clutched her stomach, mortally wounded. She gasped out a last spell, but couldn't finish before she collapsed, hand twitching.

The other priestess of Lolth took one look at the situation and fled.

"After her!" the priestess of Elistraee in charge commanded. Two of her soldiers leapt after the priestess of Lolth with uncanny grace, even for a drow. They were gone in an instant.

Entreri quirked an eyebrow at Jarlaxle. "What are the odds that you can cast off your disguise and reveal yourself as a savior? And then get them to release those who wish to go with us instead?"

Jarlaxle tapped his lower lip and then beamed. "I can always try."

"If it doesn't work, we can just kill them all." Entreri shrugged. He didn't have any interest in diplomacy, perhaps, but he did understand that life would be easier if they didn't unnecessarily make enemies with the cult of Elistraee.

"The auction guards are on their way, my lady," one of the priestesses of Elistraee said to their leader.

"We must move out," their leader responded.

"Wait," Jarlaxle called.

They turned towards Entreri and him.

Jarlaxle unburdened himself of the basket on his back and cast off his rags, revealing his equipment underneath. He retrieved his vest and his hat from underneath a cloth covering the contents of the basket, and finally fastened his rainbow cape around his shoulders.

"We represent the interests of the males you have rescued," Jarlaxle said, walking across to the platform and mounting the steps.

"You," the leading female said. She pointed her longsword at him accusingly. "You interfered with us yesterday."

Jarlaxle spread his hands. "I admit that I did, to protect the interests of the males in your custody. Your people attacked, refusing peaceful negotiations. We defended ourselves. It got out of hand."

"Like the Abyss it did," she spat.

Jarlaxle grimaced sheepishly and bowed. "Can we not talk this over?"

"Not here. Not now. If you are serious about negotiating for the rights of the males under our protection, follow us two blocks north and one block east."

The two soldiers she sent after the fleeing Lolthian priestess returned, out of breath. They bowed. "She escaped, my lady."

"Very well. Let us depart." She turned and gestured with her sword. Her soldiers retreated ahead of her. She cast one last glance at Jarlaxle. "You will know the building because it will be the only structure standing tall."

Then she disappeared.

Jarlaxle opened his mouth, then pouted. "I did not agree." He glanced at Entreri. "But we may as well. I doubt it is a trap."

"If it is, it will be one they will greatly regret," Entreri said. He was not amused, but he figured Jarlaxle was right. "Very well."

They followed the priestesses to the best of their ability, but they did not catch up. The followers of Elistraee were far too stealthy to be tracked, even by a seasoned drow mercenary and an expert assassin from Calimport. However, they did find the building, a square structure of dark wood two stories tall. The other hovels on the street were canvas, rope, and driftwood lashed together.

Jarlaxle pointedly walked up to the front door and knocked.

"Password," a harsh female voice demanded.

"We were invited," Jarlaxle said. "If you don't believe us consult with your leader."

Entreri was sufficiently unamused to be willing to level the structure if necessary. Granted, that would take some effort, but hopefully Jarlaxle had some conveniently powerful magical item that would help.

Jarlaxle waited with at least a veneer of calm, in absence of the real thing.

Finally, after a five minute wait, the door opened. Unsmiling drow females, two on either side of them, escorted them upstairs. There were no walls separating rooms here, only curtains. The largest room, no doubt was used to be a sitting room, was now a makeshift meeting room. The leader from the marketplace sat in a high-backed chair at a feast table, long and narrow.

She stood at their entrance. "So you wish to negotiate for the males in our keeping."

"You know that we do," Jarlaxle said. "We told you so."

She gestured dismissively. "Dealing with Vhaeraunites is rarely that simple."

Jarlaxle bowed. "If I may clarify, we are not Vhaeraunites. We are mercenaries hired for a specific purpose. If we can work out a deal we shall butt heads far more infrequently in the future. My lady . . . ?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Alydril."

"My lady Alydril," Jarlaxle finished. He straightened.

Alydril looked from Jarlaxle to Entreri. "And you are?"

Jarlaxle hesitated. He had to admit that he did not relish the idea of the followers of Elistraee knowing his identity.

"Ah, so you will not introduce yourselves," she said with a smirk. "Then I am afraid we have nothing to talk about."

Jarlaxle scowled. "Jarlaxle." He gestured at his partner. "Entreri."

"Why do I know that name?" Alydril asked.

"Which one?" Jarlaxle asked.

Alydril examined them both with narrowed eyes. "Sit. If you please."

"If we don't?" Jarlaxle countered.

Alydril shrugged. "Stand. Whatever you prefer."

Jarlaxle reined himself in. "You may know of me as the founder of a rogue band of males from Menzoberranzan. I follow no deity and wish only to make an independent life for myself."

"And I have worked with him," Entreri said. He decided to sit, purposefully using relaxed body language. Confident, relaxed body language. He crossed his ankle over his knee and draped one arm over the back of the chair, leaning back.

Jarlaxle sighed and followed Entreri's lead, sitting down and leaning back, making himself comfortable.

"I left Ched Nasad seventy-five years ago," Alydril said. "I know of Menzoberranzan. Males have fewer rights there than they do in Ched Nasad."

Jarlaxle nodded. "Quite right."

"Even the right to become a member of your own faith's clergy is denied, am I correct?" Alydril asked.

"That is correct," Jarlaxle said.

"Then it is logical to abstain from faith," Alydril said.

"We are not here to discuss me," Jarlaxle said mildly. "We are here to discuss the fate of males who have exercised their right to a deity and have chosen Vhaeraun."

"They chose wrong," Alydril asserted.

"Even so, you are still a female of Ched Nasad if you deny them the right to choose a deity to their liking. A male deity." Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes at her pointedly.

Entreri had no real way of entering this conversation. He thought that all drow were basically insane. Being around them was rather infuriating, but then again it would be when they disdained everything he was: human and male.

"Vhaeraun is against everything good and just!" Alydril spread her hands. "Why can these males not choose a good deity? A just deity?"

"Do you know any male deity that would take them? Other than Vhaeraun? Other than Selvetarm?" Jarlaxle gestured. "If you do not release all males who wish to be taken in by the Dark Dagger into our care, you will be no different than a Matron Mother. You infantize us instead of allowing us our own decisions. Our own mistakes, if they are mistakes, belong to us."

"If we release them to the Dark Dagger we will be forced to fight them in the future," Alydril argued.

"They would rather have that than your pity," Jarlaxle said.

"And there is no guarantee that you will not have to fight them anyway," Entreri said. "They will still feel enslaved. Enslaved, babied, suffocated, and repressed. They won't be able to live their lives as they see fit, and that will breed hate and resentment. Hate and resentment that they will rightfully aim your way. Nothing good can come of that."

Alydril wavered, then pressed her lips together in a firm line. "You ask me to release valuable troops to my enemy."

"Then name your price," Jarlaxle retorted. "You know how negotiation works."

Alydril lapsed into thought, looking away and chewing the inside of her lip.

Jarlaxle folded his hands on the table and waited.

Entreri internally patted himself on the back. He was not used to partnership, but he was glad he had trusted in Jarlaxle's strengths and abilities. It made for an efficient setup: Alydril and her troops could rescue the males, and then Entreri and Jarlaxle could buy them off her. Assuming she went for this, of course.

"I'll not sell them like common slaves." Alydril's eyes flashed. "They aren't. They are people."

"But?" Jarlaxle prompted.

"But I will release the males to you in return for something on your part," Alydril said.

Jarlaxle could feel this steering into dangerous waters. "Such as?"

Entreri wasn't sure he liked the way this was headed, but he remained quiet.

"You are willing enough to involve yourself in the politics of the slave trade," Alydril said.

"For the right price," Jarlaxle said.

"Do the Dark Dagger intend to pay you enough to make a mission for us worth your while?" Alydril asked.

"It depends," Jarlaxle said. He folded his arms across his chest. "Assuming your request isn't entirely out of bounds, my partner and I may decide to bill you for the difference."

Alydril snorted. "My sisters are unlikely to understand my decision, but if you would assent to aid us I would be willing to release all followers of Vhaeraun our operations free."

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow. "What could be worth such a high price?"

Entreri was curious – and leery. Getting into the middle of drow politics of any kind seemed dangerous to him. After all, they'd taken him on quite a ride concerning Drizzt and Mithral Hall.

"Do you know of Guallidurth?" Alydril leaned forward and folded her hands on the table.

Jarlaxle shook his head.

Alydril glanced at Entreri. "Guallidurth lies underneath Old Shanatar in Calimshan." She looked to Jarlaxle. "Guallidurth is home to over two hundred rival Houses, all of whom worship Lolth."

"And?" Jarlaxle asked.

"They are the other leading source of drow slaves that come to Skullport, but they are far more careful in their approach. They sell their prisoners and unwanted children to humans, who then traffic them to Skullport via the portal system. These humans are protected by the Iron Ring, under the leadership of one Harun Al-Bariq."

Jarlaxle stood. "Release the males you rescued today and the Vhaeraunites that will be auctioned tomorrow, thus allowing us to finish our job for the Dark Dagger. Then we will consider helping you with your problem."

Entreri stood as well, following Jarlaxle's lead.

Alydril shot to her feet. "But – "

"You do not deal with the Dark Dagger, but with us," Jarlaxle said. "Stay out of our way while we finish our current job, and we will extend our professional courtesy to you. We have experience dealing with The Iron Ring. We know our way around their security. We have no fear of them." He wagged an index finger. "But we'll not trade favors. Entreri and Jarlaxle trade for one thing only, Lady Alydril: gold."

She smiled resignedly. "Then you are straightforward, aren't you?"

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to her. "Mercenaries usually are. Now, will you allow us to take the Vhaeraunites to their desired destination?"

Alydril nodded.

Entreri couldn't really complain about the outcome. The meeting itself had been boring, but it looked like they could get to finish their current job plus get in on a new job after that. Efficient and effective.

Alydril led them downstairs into the basement, which had been converted into an infirmary. The male drow had been tended to. They had bathed and been dressed in clean clothes, and whatever injuries they'd sustained had been healed. Alydril overrode her followers' concerns and released the four male drow with shaven heads to Jarlaxle and Entreri's custody.

At the door Alydril pressed a small silver token into Jarlaxle's hand. "Contact us with this."

Jarlaxle examined it. A small silver disk like a coin, with an embossed crescent moon in the center. He met her gaze and nodded. Then he tucked the token into his hat.

Jarlaxle and Entreri plotted a serpentine course to the Dark Dagger's safe house, avoiding repetition of the day before. The four Vhaeraunties kept up well. They were young, all under two hundred years old. When they reached the safe house, one commented, "We're glad to be free of those controlling bitches. I had two bowls of gruel shoved down my throat and was prayed for on top of that. Who do they think they are?"

Entreri had to snort at that one. He wasn't surprised to hear the comment, of course. He expected as much.

Jarlaxle shook his head. "Sadly, they think of themselves as morally superior." He lifted the trap door and led them down into the underground passage, then returned to Entreri's side.

On their way back home, Jarlaxle commented, "I have always said that much conflict can be avoided if one is willing to negotiate with a level head." He grinned. "Thank you for reminding me to keep a level head. I would have lost my temper without your assistance."

"Oh?" Entreri was surprised to hear this admission.

"Females always seem to know which sore places to prod in order to elicit the response they desire," Jarlaxle admitted. "Without saying anything overt, merely relying on body language and tone of voice, I felt Alydril definitely provoked me. I came very close to responding in kind."

Entreri tilted his head. "So when I sat down and looked relaxed, that triggered you to stay level-headed?"

Jarlaxle nodded. "It did."

Entreri understood now. "I see." Jarlaxle seemed so self-assured and self-efficient that Entreri had never considered Jarlaxle would need anything from him. There was a certain balancing moment in finding out he could. Had.

Perhaps they could truly operate as equals.

* * *

True to their word, the followers of Elistraee stayed out of the auction the next day, allowing Entreri and Jarlaxle to buy the last two refugees on their list and deliver them peacefully. Afterwards they cleaned up and reported back to the tavern in north Ventor where they had met Yauntyyr the first time.

The courier didn't make them wait this time. He greeted them with open arms and a grin. "Welcome. I have received word that all males are safe. I have prepared your payment already. Please, count it."

Jarlaxle graciously accepted the bags of gold and counted them, then dropped them into his hat. "Our business is now settled. Potentially."

Yauntyyr tilted his head. "Potentially?"

Jarlaxle turned to him. "Yes. I extend an offer to escort any drow males wishing to join the ranks of the Dark Dagger to your safe house if I come across them. Would the Dark Dagger be interested in such an offer?"

One could almost see Yauntyyr's eyes gleam from behind his mask. "Interesting. I shall contact my superiors with your offer." He bowed. "Until then."

Jarlaxle tipped his hat. "Until then." He glanced at Entreri to make sure his partner had nothing to say.

Entreri merely offered Yauntyyr a nod. If Jarlaxle wanted to siphon drow males away from crazy drow females, that was his business.

They departed, heading towards their flat.

"I am hoping that they will offer a reward for recruitment," Jarlaxle explained with a smile. "Then we could be paid twice for the same deed, given that Alydril likely wishes to hire us to free slaves, among other things. If we could sort them into his and her camps and collect two rewards, then we could do business most efficiently."

Entreri smirked. "True enough." Clearly he could trust Jarlaxle to have his eye on profit at all times, even if he did seem occasionally a bit over-involved in the situation. Entreri usually considered such behavior foolish, but Jarlaxle seemed to be balancing it well.

Thus far, anyway.


End file.
